Darker Shade of Pale
by LoveThemWinchesters
Summary: Dean has been harboring a secret since he was 4 yrs old. After that fateful night back on Nov 2, 1983, a haunting figure came to him. Over the years, he's seen less and less of this 'someone', but every time 'he' comes back, Dean finds his ability to survive the encounter tested. (See inside for full summary)
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary: **Dean has been harboring a secret since he was 4 years old. After that fateful night back on November 2, 1983, a haunting figure came to him. Over the years, he's seen less and less of this 'someone', but every time _he_ comes back, Dean finds his ability to survive the encounter tested. The hunter knows the last day he saw _him_: August 28, 2002, the day Sam left for Stanford, just over three years ago; the date was carved in Dean's memory like the epitaph on a granite tombstone. And now _he_'s back…with a vengeance. (Sam is 22. Dean is 26. Set in very early Season 1.)

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**Disclaimer: **As usual, the boys and Supernatural belong to the CW and Kripke. I like to just have a little fun with them once in a while. And the character of Slenderman belongs to Victor Surge, not me.

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**Author's Notes: **There is so much info out there on Slenderman. I did tons of research on him before writing this and came up with 10 typed pages of facts to work with, a treasure trove full of fun (and that was after I narrowed it down from closer to 20 pages). The below only scratches the surface of what he's all about. I've weaved a story together from what I've learned and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy.

Oh, and there doesn't seem to be a way to kill him either. I guess I'll leave that up to Sam and Dean to figure out. They're pretty good at figuring out this stuff ;)

Note: They say the more you learn about Slenderman, the more likely it is he'll come looking for you, so if you don't hear from me...

**Warnings: **Rating due to explicit language and some decent whumpage which includes blood and mild gore, and also a mention of non-con.

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Also, the title of this fic is a play on the name of the old Van Morrison song, 'A Whiter Shade of Pale'. Awesome song :) Many thanks for RiatheMai for helping me come up with that one. By the end of this fic, I'm sure I'll owe her many more thanks for her beta/edit help, and overall zany ideas. Thank you, my friend!

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**Slenderman's Song**

While you rest unbound, asleep

The Slenderman will take his keep

His rounded face so blank, so graceful

Dressed in suits that seem so tasteful

Long dark legs that step and stagger

Long fingers sharp like daggers

Moving in such a rapid pace

Gaining on you with no haste

So close to you, no less than an inch

Do not move, blink or flinch

For he delivers pure demise

A cursed soul in disguise

The Slenderman makes no mistake

For he will have your soul to take

(Credit creepypasta . wikia . com)

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**_*CHAPTER 1*_**

* * *

_…Present Day…_

The dispiriting cry of a vulture echoed out over the landscape, its unsettling sound rousing Dean from his unconscious state. He was sprawled out on his stomach and his body felt stiff, sore. His fingers twitched and he felt the cold, iciness of freshly fallen snow under the calloused palms of his hands; the frigid air had caused his face to grow numb and it felt like his nose hairs had frozen as well.

_What the hell?_

Dean blinked his eyes open and turned his head, spitting out bits of dirt and debris. The sharp clarity of morning caused him to squint and he let out a low groan from the aches that overwhelmed his body. (The fact that he was nearly frozen wasn't helping much either.) The hunter rolled over onto his back and stared up into the bare trees above; their frost-covered branches where gnarled and crooked and they knocked together like hollow bones in the light breeze moving through them. A kettle of vultures circled high above those same limbs; he shivered knowing he was probably the next thing on their menu.

As his senses came back to him, one by one, Dean forced himself to sit up. He wiped the snow and grit off his cheek as he looked around. What he saw were trees…as far as the eye could see. Aside from the call of the carrion fowl above, the woods were shrouded in a deathly silence.

_Again, what the hell?_

And then it all came back to him.

* * *

_…Two days ago…_

Dean pushed out through the door of the local tavern moving quickly, cocky grin on his face. He wasn't sure how pissed off the other guy was now that he'd lost two-hundred dollars over a game of pool, but the hunter wasn't about to wait around to find out. Hustling was fun, but only when you got away with it.

Sam had chosen to remain back at the room tonight. He had said something about wanting to get some more research done on their latest gig. And Dean was fine with that. The kid needed his space. It had been less than two months since Jess had died in that unnatural fire and Sam was still picking up the pieces. Whatever time Sam needed, Dean could give him that.

It was damp out and a ghostly fog had settled down claiming most of the neighborhood. It gave Dean an unsettled feeling and he quickened his pace along the sidewalk. Puffs of cold breath escaped in wisps from his nose and mouth and he turned the collar of his utility jacket up, nestling snugly within it. "Shoulda had some brandy," he muttered to himself. It would've at least taken the tension off his shoulders and warmed him up some.

It was roughly a ten minute walk back to the motel, not far by any means, but far enough. The road he was travelling was dark and mostly unlit; only one out of every four streetlamps was actually working. _That's what we get for working jobs in these Podunk towns,_ he thought to himself. On one side of him was a scattering of small, local shops – a video store, a second hand clothing shop, and a bakery were among them – tenant apartments were located on the upper levels. On the other side of him, across the street, was an ominous stretch of trees. As Dean made his way down the sidewalk, his shadow fell long and dark along the ground beside.

Dean jumped as a noise skittered across the asphalt to his right. He glanced over and saw several fallen leaves keeping pace with him out in the empty road. A thin laugh escaped his lips. "Dude," he shook his head, "you're seriously losin' it."

Another twenty feet passed and an unbidden shiver coursed down Dean's spine. He wanted to blame it on the chill, but something was _off_. The hunter carefully let his gaze drift around him as he loosened his hands at his sides. His Colt was tucked into the waistband of his jeans and he wanted to be ready to use it if he needed to.

Nothing.

Another fifty feet and Dean slowed his step. Something – or someone – was following him; he could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He cast another casual glance around the area.

And there, off in the trees, he caught a glimpse of something. It was hard to see for the fact that it blended in so well with the forest, but it was there. The hunter continued walking until he came up on a telephone pole, putting it between himself and whatever it was that was following him. He peered out into the forest as he tucked his hand under the backside of his jacket, fingers wrapping around the smooth, pearl inlayed grip of his gun.

Just enough light from the last lamppost shone down and he saw _it_ clearly. A sense of dread suddenly enveloped Dean, nearly smothering him. The feeling, Dean knew, was a side effect from being so close to _him._ He tried to shrug it off, but it clung to him like a leech. "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

It had been just over three years since Dean had seen _him_, enough time that the hunter had started to think he'd seen the last of the creature_._ _So much for wishful thinking._ The man's pale features were in stark contrast to the surrounding void of night and Dean couldn't turn his gaze away. He found himself frozen in place, gaze locked with that of the featureless face staring back at him.

Even through the all-encompassing fear that was trying to worm its way into his mind, Dean's first thought was that he had to get to Sam; he couldn't let _him _get to his little brother. But Dean knew _he_ would get what he wanted. He always did. Dean also knew that as soon as he took his eyes off _him_, the man would instantly be on top of him. Still, he turned and ran, work boots pounding hard against the sidewalk as he did. What other choice did Dean have?

But it was too late. It was always too late once you laid eyes on _him._

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and found his phone. He needed to call Sam, make sure his brother was alright.

"Dean? Shit, are you okay? Where the hell are you?" Dean allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Sam was okay. "I've been trying to reach you for two days, but your phone hasn't been working."

_Fuck, two days?_

"Yeah, I think so," he answered as he pushed up to his feet. A bitter wind whipped up against him as he did, chafing his already raw cheeks, its chilly fingers seeking out every square inch of bare skin it could find. Dean took in a full three-sixty of his surroundings. Mountains. Other than that, it was just trees. With what he saw, he was surprised he was getting any cell reception out here at all. Hopefully, that meant he wasn't too far from somewhere.

The hunter rubbed at the nape of his neck with his free hand. "And, honestly, I don't know where I am." Dean knew he could be anywhere. The last time _he_ had gotten to him, he had woken up nearly dead over three hundred miles away from where he had been staying in some rundown shack of a house with his father in New York. He shivered at the recollection, at the thought of how much blood there had been _that_ time. If his dad hadn't gotten there when he did…

At that thought, Dean looked himself over. Aside from the general aches and what felt like mild frostbite, he appeared to be in good health. He'd apparently gotten lucky this time (not that he could remember shit about what _had_ happened). But this was just the beginning. He knew things were going to get worse, a whole lot worse. They always did.

"Dean?"

Dean was broken away from his macabre memories of his past run-ins with the creature. "What?"

"I asked you what happened."

He couldn't tell Sam. _Wouldn't_. The less Sam knew, the safer he would be. "I don't know." The lie rolled smoothly off Dean's tongue. "Listen. It looks like I'm in the middle of nowhere. I'm gonna start walkin' and I'll call you every half hour. When I get to some type of civilization, I'll find out where I am and you can come get me."

"Dean, what do you mean the 'middle of nowhere'?"

Of course Sam had to press for more. "For a college kid, I sure do have to explain a lot of things to you. I'm in the middle of the fuckin' mountains, Sam. Like the goddamn Rockies. Middle of nowhere."

"Mountains," the younger Winchester repeated. – Dean could picture Sam's brow creasing in confusion, the gears in that big brain of his turning. – The line was silent for a moment. "Seriously?"

"Dude, you're killin' my battery." Dean wasn't going to waste time going back and forth trying to explain something he couldn't. "I gotta go. I'll call you soon." Sam knew what he needed to know, so he quickly disconnected the call before his brother went into some kind of tirade.

The hunter tucked his phone back into his pocket and blew into his cupped hands trying to warm them up. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. From where the sun was in the sky, he gathered the mountain range in front of him ran north-south. Figuring the best way to go would be away from them, Dean tugged his jacket tighter around himself and turned on his heel, heading east through the barren trees. It had to lead somewhere eventually. At least it wasn't snowing.

And he prayed he wouldn't run into any unwelcome company during his hike. It was bad enough that he knew what was bound to happen in the upcoming days.

* * *

Several hours and a handful of calls later, Dean stumbled through the brush and found himself in what most people would consider a quaint mountainside village. The first thing he did was look at the license plates on the cars. New Hampshire. _Wonderful_. He had been deposited in the Appalachians. _No wonder my feet feel like freakin' blocks of ice_.

Not once in Dean's life did he feel the need for hiking that god-awful trail; Dean didn't do nature. The last time he and Sam were out in the woods, he had nearly gotten eaten by a damn wendigo. No, the great outdoors could keep to itself for all he cared. – And Sam was in Pennsylvania. Ol' Slendy was getting better in his efforts. He had almost another hundred miles on the last time. The asshole…

Dean located a motel and used some of his billiard winnings to reserve a room for the night. Once he got settled in and ordered some food, he called Sam.

"Warren, New Hampshire." Dean was holding the small plastic placard advertising the hotel which had been sitting on the table.

"Fuck, Dean. Really?" Sam nearly squeaked in disbelief. He was expecting something a lot closer…like the mountains just outside of Fullerton where their hunt was happening. "Do I even wanna-"

"No, Sam. Just get here. I'm at the Mountain View Lodge, just off of route 25. Room 9. There's a key waiting at the front desk for you when you get here."

"Yeah, okay. But what's that, like a seven hour drive from here? It's gonna take some time."

"Just don't wreck the car or I'll put a dent in you."

"Whatever," Sam deadpanned. "I'll be there later tonight. And when I get there, you're gonna tell me what's going on. – Oh, and thanks for leaving me with all your shit to pick up. You've got dirty clothes everywhere."

"Hey, don't give me that crap. I've been pickin' up after your ass since you were in diapers."

They said their goodbyes and Dean lay back on the bed, stretching out. After a couple of minutes, he got up to take a shower. The delivery guy wouldn't be there for at least another twenty minutes.

* * *

Dean turned on the shower, setting it to its hottest temperature, and then peeled out of his sweat-laden clothing. (The temperature flashing on the digital sign at the bank up the street might have said it was only twenty-eight degrees out, but he had built up quite the sweat coming down that hellish mountain; it felt like fucking Mount Doom.) He wrinkled his nose as he dropped the offending clothes into a pile in the corner. Just as he was about to step under the rush of hot water, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes fell to five ragged scars on his chest and abdomen.

Their lines were bright pink and roughly four inches in length each; they were in-and-out wounds from front to back. Dean traced the one closest to his heart with the pads of his fingers. This is what that bastard had done to him last time…and these were only the ones most visible; there were others. The thing had let him remember everything that time._ What a nice guy._ Dean almost wished it hadn't.

He pushed the memory out of his head. He'd survived; that's all that mattered. And he would survive this time as well.

* * *

Dean came out of the bathroom minutes later, towel wrapped low on his waist, steam escaping the small room in his wake; it felt good to be able to feel his fingers and toes again. He glanced at the clock as his stomach rumbled and, just as he did, there was a knock at the door; a voice sounded through the thin wood announcing the arrival of his food.

He took out a few bills from his wallet which was on the nightstand and went to answer the door; his mouth was already watering at the mere thought of the sweet and sour chicken and fried rice which he'd be digging into shortly.

As Dean moved across the room, the silhouette of a man in the dark glass of the television set watched him silently.

* * *

After eating his meal of Chinese take-out, Dean sprawled out on the bed. He still had another five or so hours to kill before Sam got there. He was bored and exhausted. With no fresh clothing to put on, the hunter was basically trapped in the small craphole of a room for the remainder of the evening.

Dean tossed his towel aside and climbed under the scratchy blankets. If he could catch a small nap now, he'd be more on his game when Sam got there. He'd have to come up with some kind of passable story to explain how he'd gotten from suburbia Pennsylvania to the mountains of central New Hampshire.

Slowly, the hunter drifted off into sleep. To say it was a relaxing sleep would be like saying the sky was any other color than blue. _He_ was there. Everywhere Dean looked, the creature surrounded him. Dean tossed and turned, crying out in his sleep, but he couldn't wake himself up. He was being held under by _him._

_Slenderman had Sam. Dean knew it was a dream, but these dreams always seemed too real. The man's long, tentacle-like arms were wrapped around the younger Winchester like a constrictor, squeezing him until his face turned from deep scarlet to a deathly blue. Sam couldn't cry out for lack of air. Dean yelled, fought to get to his brother, but he was frozen in place. He could do nothing but watch as the creature tilted its head and disappeared in the blink of an eye with Sam in tow. Dean cried out as he reached up to the empty space in front of him and then he hung his head heavily in defeat. Sam was gone._

_Minutes – or hours – later, Dean felt something warm and wet drip down onto the top of his head. He pried his eyes open and looked up. Another drop, this time on his brow and spilling hotly down the side of his cheek. His breath hitched in his chest before he screamed. Sam…_

_And during it all, the faceless man remained motionless…watching with that cruel expressionless and blank face._

* * *

It was nearly 7:00 p.m. when Sam unlocked the door and stepped into the room. The scene he walked into had him dropping the bags to the floor and running over to the bed where Dean was flailing and crying out. Sam had to manhandle his brother as the older hunter tried throwing him off.

"Dean! Dean, wake up!" Sam narrowly dodged the closed fist which was swung in his direction. "Hey, c'mon, Dean. Snap out of it. You're having a nightmare."

Dean began to calm down as Sam's words started to sink into his subconscious mind. "Sam," fell from his lips as he started to come around. And then suddenly, he swung around faster than his brother could react and wrapped his arms around the younger man.

Sam was completely caught off guard at that. He couldn't wipe the stunned look off his face even as he let his long arms settle around the man and hugged him back, giving Dean what he seemingly needed at the moment.

It only took a split second before the elder Winchester realized what he'd just done. "Dude, get off me," he growled as his hands flew up, pushing Sam away. Dean moved back quickly, tugging the sheets up higher to cover his now partially bared hip, and then rubbed his hands up over his face in an attempt to hide the tears he felt pricking at his eyes.

Sam just sat there on the edge of the bed; he was dumbfounded. _What the hell had just happened?_ And now? He could swear he had seen a flash of tears before the man's hands were up over his face under the pretense of wiping sleep away. _That_ was something he hadn't seen the man do in years. "You alright?" he asked after giving Dean a few minutes to gather himself.

"I'm fine, Sam." That was it. No explanation. Nothing. _Typical Dean._

Sam shook his head at his brother's terse reply. "You want some water or something?" He got up and headed into the bathroom without waiting for an answer. A minute later, he came out and handed a glass to Dean. The man took it with little more than a grumbled 'thanks'.

Sam watched as Dean brought the water up to his lips; his hand was shaking. He could only wonder what his brother had been dreaming about. What could make Dean break like that? The man had always been a rock, unbreakable.

* * *

"So, are you gonna enlighten me as to what happened to you the other night?" A couple of hours had passed since Dean had woken up and Sam was still curious about what had happened to the man. He knew Dean wasn't going to just volunteer the information.

Dean was now in a clean pair of sweatpants and was sitting at the table drinking a coffee. He looked somewhat haggard and hadn't said much since waking. Whatever he'd been dreaming about had really taken its toll on him.

"I told you I don't know what happened."

"Seriously? You expect me to believe that you have no idea how you got from Fullerton to the fucking White Mountains?" He narrowed his hazel eyes at his brother then. "Dude, I'm younger than you, but I'm not stupid."

Sam watched Dean as he stood up and walked over to the kitchenette without saying a word. He proceeded to wash his cup out and set it in the rack to dry before turning back. Even from where he was sitting, Sam could see the man was still trembling from earlier.

Dean smoothed his hand over his mouth before looking up at him again. "Pissed off a couple of truckers. You know, hustled the wrong guys. I can't remember much since they knocked me over the head, but when I woke up, I was here. Shit happens. End of story."

Sam stared at Dean. That story was so full of shit that he didn't know where to begin. Dean would never let himself get taken down that easily. – They may have only been back together for a couple of months, but Sam knew that without a doubt. – Clearly, something had happened that Dean didn't want to discuss. "Yeah, that's totally believable," he huffed out under his breath. Sam got up and went over to the bed where he began to strip out of his shirt and pants. It was late and he was getting tired. "So, what're we gonna do about the hunt back in Pennsylvania, just leave it?" They still had an angry spirit haunting an old factory that needed to be taken care of.

"We can head back out there tomorrow. The only thing left is the salt-and-burn. There's no reason to not finish the job."

* * *

They packed up their things the next morning and stopped by the local diner before heading out onto the highway. As Sam followed Dean across the parking lot into the diner, he saw a familiar figure standing in the shadows of the community park next door.

He'd seen the entity several times since Jess' death and couldn't figure the thing out. Sam had already come to the conclusion that it had latched onto him; it wouldn't be the first time a spirit had been attracted to him over the years. Usually, they just went away after a while.

This one was different from the others though. It was more of a silent watcher, never trying to approach him or communicate with him. The being just remained still wherever it was. He was thin and was always dressed in a dark suit; his features were drawn and pale. There was no face, no hair…nothing…just smooth skin stretched tautly over sharp, boney features. And he was taller than Sam, closer to seven feet tall, possibly more. The way he stared was a little creepy, to say the least, but nothing Sam couldn't handle, not after everything he'd seen in his life.

Sam glanced at Dean; his brother didn't seem to notice the figure. When he looked back into the trees, it was gone. _Oh, well_, he shrugged. It wasn't hurting anyone. There was no reason to mention it.

* * *

The diner was your typical '50s-style place: red vinyl seating, chrome accents on the stools and tables, off-white laminate counters and tabletops, and pictures of old movie stars hanging on the walls.

Dean took the table in the far corner as was his usual modus operandi; he liked to be able to observe everyone who was coming and going. (It was something that had been ingrained in him over the years.) Their waitress stopped by seconds later and delivered their menus while offering them coffee.

Looking over his menu, Dean smiled. Their 'Special of the Day' was an endless plate of mini pancakes, all varieties…plain, chocolate chip, blueberry, cocoa-banana, and last, but not least, bacon-apple. Absentmindedly, he rolled his tongue over his lips, wetting them, as he thought about which ones he wanted…maybe some of each.

Fifteen minutes later, they were digging into their food: Sam his boring sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast and Dean with his stack of love. (And if Dean didn't sound like he was making love to it as he ate...)

The older Winchester had just finished his second serving and was sprawled back in his seat rubbing a hand over his full stomach – but still contemplating a third plate – when he saw something that almost had his entire meal coming back up. Reflected in the shiny surface of the napkin holder on the table was _him_. Dean quickly glanced across the room to where the reflection would have originated from, but there was nothing there. He swallowed tightly and looked across the table at Sam who was completely oblivious and was pouring several packets of sugar into his most recent cup of coffee.

Dean suddenly stood up from the table, knocking his left knee against the underside of it hard as he did. "We gotta go," he said without explanation as he pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty dollar bill down between their dishes. He didn't give Sam a chance to ask questions as he grabbed his jacket from the booth and then pulled his brother along by his sleeve.

Sam yanked out of Dean's grip as they stepped outside into the cool morning. "Dude." He spun around on Dean. "Explain that one to me."

"You'll have to trust me on this one, Sam." Dean made a beeline to the Impala and had it started and in gear before Sam even had the passenger side door open.

There may have been a few speed limits broken as Dean floored it to the highway.

* * *

All was quiet for the first several miles, not even the radio broke the tense silence. Dean's knuckles were white where his hands were wrapped around the steering wheel and Sam continued to watch him from the corner of his eye.

"You know, you're runnin' like something's after you," Sam said after a while.

_Goddamn kid's too observant for his own good._ Since getting on the highway, Dean had been trying to get himself calmed down. He was starting to wish he'd left Sam at Stanford; he could find their father on his own. It would have been safer. And maybe Jess would still be alive, too.

"It's not something I wanna talk about right now." _I'm tryin' to protect you._

Sam shifted in the seat until his back was against the door and he was facing Dean. He didn't say anything, just sat and stared.

That steady gaze wore on Dean. It pissed him off that Sam knew how to wear him down like that, but then again, for the first nineteen years of Sam's life, Dean had practically raised him. The kid probably knew him better than he knew himself, even after three years of being separated.

"Goddammit, Sam. I _can't _talk to you about it. It's for your own good. The less you know, the safer you'll be, okay? So just…stop." Dean reached over and pushed the cassette into the player and turned the volume up. Bad Company began to play and Dean settled down into the seat ignoring his brother's glare. It wasn't too long ago that Dean had found out Sam was keeping some big secret. Well, he was just going the have to learn that Dean had his secrets, too.

Finally, with one final frustrated huff, Sam turned and faced the front of the car again. He crossed his arms over his chest and rested his head against the window. It was going to be a long ride.

* * *

They had another hour to go yet. Dean was still at the wheel, having refused to give it up when Sam offered to take over back in Connecticut. The younger Winchester had remained silent ever since.

The Impala had just rolled over the state line into Pennsylvania when a high-pitched whine poured out of the car's speakers. Both men cursed at the ear-splitting sound and Dean quickly reached over and turned the radio off. When he happened to glance up in the rearview mirror afterward, terror gripped him in its razor-sharp claws. Right there, in the back seat, was his silent tormentor. All thought of driving ceased and the car swerved across three lanes of the interstate, nearly striking a semi-truck. The only reason they hadn't was because Sam had launched across the front seat and grabbed a hold of the wheel.

"Dude, pull over. NOW!"

Dean blinked and then _he _was gone. The hunter was so shaken up that he followed Sam's order as easily as if it had fallen from John Winchester's mouth.

Sam spun towards his brother, eyes flashing with a raging combination of shock, anger, and fear. "What the hell is wrong with you? Whatever you're hiding, it's not worth killing both of us over it."

When Dean finally looked up at Sam, the younger Winchester cursed. "Shit, Dean. You're bleeding." He eyed the thin trickle of blood coming from the man's nose before pulling open the glove box to get a napkin.

**_To be continued..._  
**

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**Author's Note:** Please be sure to leave comments. I'd love to hear from you, good or bad :)


	2. Chapter 2

***CHAPTER 2***

* * *

_…July 16, 1987…_

They were in southern New Mexico and John had left over two hours ago. It had been three days since they'd arrived. Prior to that, the boys had been at Bobby's for almost a month while the eldest Winchester was off with a hunting partner hunting some big badass baddy in northwestern Wyoming.

Dean was just closing the drapes over the window for the night when he saw _him _out in the parking lot. The creature had done nothing over the years but watch the young boy and aside from being a little creeped out by it, Dean didn't let it bother him too much.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean saw that his four year old brother was sound asleep on the bed, tucked under the thin, floral-patterned sheets with his worn-out old teddy bear held tightly under his arm. He wanted to make sure Sammy never saw _him. _His brother had a hard enough time trying to sleep without adding something like this to his stash of nightmares.

When Dean looked back to the window, _he_ was just on the other side of the glass, having moved like he always did, lightning fast and only when Dean wasn't looking. The thin, skeletal features captivated him. He knew his father hunted monsters, knew that this _thing_ was one of them, but Slenderman had never hurt him. (The name had been told to him in a dream not long after he'd first seen _him_.) Dean stepped up to the window and placed an open palm to the thin barrier between him and _it._

He stared at the being, felt himself being drawn into its faceless gaze. Dean was beyond the point of being able to pull his mind away from _it_. He let _it_ enter his mind as it had done before, but what he saw this time wasn't all the kittens and rainbows he'd seen before.

_Men, women, and children all dying, that's what he saw. Bits and pieces of their hideous deaths flashed in his mind's eye. Never more than one at a time, but they were all bloody and broken. Most were impaled by tree branches high up in the barren treetops; it was both fascinating and disconcerting at the same time._

_The final scene laid before him was what terrified Dean the most: Sammy hanging from a tree, wooden limbs bursting through his chest and his little mouth hanging open; his unblinking and lifeless eyes stared at nothing while flies buzzed around him and settled onto his still body. The vultures flew in circles overhead…_

When Dean came to, the Pale One was gone. Tears streaked his small, round face and Dean quickly closed the curtains with trembling hands, hopefully closing _him_ out. Suddenly, he felt something tickle at his upper lip and he darted his tongue out; the strong taste of copper burst over his taste buds.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

After Dean got his nosebleed under control, he still refused to let Sam know what was going on. No matter what the younger brother said or how much he threatened the man, Dean simply _would not talk_. Sam couldn't break through the wall of Winchester stubbornness. He did, however, finally get the man to move across the seat so he could finish the drive to Pennsylvania. Once they got to the motel, he would work on him a little more, see if he could get Dean to crack.

* * *

Dean sat up, hand slapping out for purchase against the passenger side door; he was panicked and sweaty. Another nightmare. _Fuck. _This was just like the beginning of every other time _he _started toying with him. Dean wondered how bad things were going to get this time. What made matters ten times worse was that Sam was around…and Dean knew he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding the fact that something was going on.

He knew he couldn't have been sleeping for long because they were still on the highway. As he looked up, a sign for Fullerton passed. Two more miles.

"Another one?"

Usually that was a question Dean asked of Sam; the younger Winchester was always having nightmares since Jess had died. He rubbed his forehead, clearing the cool beads of sweat away. "Something like that." The hunter stared out the window; he didn't want to go into it right now.

"Listen, I've been thinking." Dean rolled his eyes at that, but Sam ignored him. "It's just a quick salt-and-burn, nothing I can't handle on my own-"

"Not gonna happen," Dean said matter-of-factly.

"Dean…" Sam sighed and shook his head; he knew this was going to cause a fight. "Look, you're not right. Let me just drop you off-"

"You're not going alone." _Not when he's this close._

Sam glanced at his brother, brow creased in a slight frown, before looking back at the road. "Fine. But you're staying in the car."

Dean said nothing, but there was no way he was staying in the car.

* * *

Dusk had settled in by the time Sam pulled the car to a stop at the edge of an empty field. The headlights of the car cut through the tall, dry grass, giving the scene in front of them an eerie glow. According to his research, William McFarber's bones should be buried in the far corner, his grave marked with only a stone.

Sam turned the engine off and looked over to his brother. Dean's eyes flashed at him in the darkness; they were full of defiance.

"I'm not stayin' in the car."

"Dean-"

"No, Sam."

"Nothing's gonna happen. It's a simple salt-and-burn," Sam stressed.

The brothers went back and forth, voices rising as both firmly held their ground. Finally, they came to a compromise: Dean agreed to stand watch from afar while Sam dug the shallow grave and tended to the salting and burning. Dean's logic was: if Sam really wanted to get stuck digging the grave on his own, then who was he to argue?

Dean watched Sam as he broke ground with the shovel and then began working his way down into the soil. It was late fall, almost officially winter, but after a while, the man gave in and stripped down to his t-shirt. Sam was lit up under the wide arc of the Impala's headlights and Dean could see the sweat along Sam's spine and under his armpits. – Digging graves was never an easy chore, no matter how shallow they were. – Dean smirked. It served the stubborn bitch right for making him sit this one out.

After nearly two hours, Sam looked back at Dean and gave him a thumbs-up. The elder Winchester grinned as he sat on the hood, shotgun in hand. Halfway there. A little while longer and then they could blow this joint.

* * *

Sam had just thrown the match into the grave and was bidding Mr. McFarber adieu when he heard Dean cry out, "SAM, GET DOWN!"

Instinct had Sam dropping flat to his stomach on the ground. He jumped when he heard the thunderous _crack _of Dean's shotgun. The weapon was re-cocked and another volley was let loose.

"Goddamn son of a bitch, you stay away from him!"

Dean couldn't be talking to the McFarber spirit. His bones were too far gone by this time. Sam looked over his shoulder at his fast approaching brother before he deemed it safe enough to get up. As he did, Sam looked around the area. All he saw was the lit up path of waist high grass blowing gently in the late evening breeze between himself and the lights of the Impala and the dark forest lining the meadow. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention, nothing except the angry glare on Dean's face. But Sam noticed as the man got closer that there was fear in his tight expression as well.

"Let's get this hole filled in and get outta here," Dean growled as he grabbed a second shovel from the duffel.

* * *

They had just finished cleaning the dirt off the shovels and were packing them into the trunk of the car when Sam finally took his chances and asked, "Dude, what the fuck was that all about?" He rested his hand on the open lid of the trunk and looked at Dean as the man stowed their things away; the elder Winchester had a certain method to his madness and Sam let him secure everything down.

"Thought I saw something," Dean muttered in reply.

"Thought you saw something? Christ, Dean, you could've killed me."

"Hey, I'm a good shot; I don't miss. And I'd never shoot you unless I meant to." A cocky grin lit up Dean's face then; his features had an unearthly red glow to them from the taillights of the car. "Maybe it was just ol' McDonald's ghost."

"McFarber. And no, his bones were toast by then."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? I thought I saw something and I shot it." Dean shouldered past Sam a little too roughly and headed towards the driver's side of the car. He'd had enough of being chauffeured around today. The motel wasn't that far away.

Sam sighed and shook his head in exasperation. He had no idea what had gotten into Dean. It was like he was hallucinating. But there was something more to it than that. How Dean had just up and disappeared from Pennsylvania and ended up several states away was still a mystery he wanted answers to.

* * *

The same old woman who Sam had checked out with yesterday was working the desk when he walked into the motel's front office. She looked up at him with a warm and friendly smile.

"Mr. Lee, I wasn't expecting to see you back." She shuffled up to the counter from where she had been sitting on the couch crocheting a blanket. "Did you find that dear brother of yours?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder to the awaiting Impala to where Dean was sitting with his right arm draped over the seat waiting for him and then back to the woman. "Uh, yeah. Girl trouble, you know." The corner of Sam's mouth twitched as he told the fib. He was still getting back into the old Winchester groove of lying to people when working the job.

"Well, that's part of life, I suppose. – So, I'm guessing you didn't just come back to talk to little ol' me…" Her old, gray eyes sparkled at him with a bit of mischief.

Sam grinned, dimples dipping into his cheeks. He liked Mrs. Mason. When they had first gotten into town – under the false story of Sam being a criminal justice major researching the cold case of the Fullerton murders, his brother having just come along for the ride – he had interviewed the woman about the deaths up at the factory while Dean scouted out the old industrial building itself. She had brought him a slice of homemade apple pie (much to Dean's utter dismay) and told him all about the town she'd lived and grown up in for the past nearly eighty years.

The widow had actually given him the key info he was searching for. She had told him about Mr. McFarber, an employee at the factory for close to thirty years, and how he had blamed several co-workers for his sudden layoff back in '53. Not long after, he had died of a sudden heart attack and was laid to rest in a field at the edge of his property. A month later, strange things had started happening at the factory…and they never stopped.

"Yes, thank you. Just for the night."

As Mrs. Mason checked the reservation book, Sam glanced back out the window at his brother. He frowned when he saw the entity that had been following him standing by the front fender of the car. The spirit was watching Dean, but the elder Winchester didn't seem to notice it as he sifted through his collection of cassette tapes.

Sam was startled from his observations when Mrs. Mason spoke up and told him she had the same room available that they had previously stayed in. In the second it took him to take his eyes from his brother to glance at Mrs. Mason and then look back outside again, the faceless man was gone.

_Huh._

* * *

They dropped their bags at the foot of their beds when they got into the room. Dean immediately began rummaging through his duffel and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He really just felt like a drink tonight, needed to calm the nerves.

"You want some?" he offered. A slight cough interrupted his words and he cleared his throat.

"No, thanks. The only thing on my mind right now is a shower. I'm all sweaty and nasty." Sam was already pulling his shirt off over his head and heading into the bathroom; the door closed softly behind him a moment later.

"Your loss. Anyway, you're the one who insisted I hang out by the car." Dean walked over to his bed and flopped down onto it with a heavy bounce. The wooden frame creaked and he held still for a moment, hoping it wasn't going to break. When it seemed like it was going to hold, Dean scooted up against the headboard and unscrewed the cap to the bottle. Another cough broke the long pull of liquor he was taking and he cursed as his teeth were jarred on the lip of the bottle. "Fucker," he muttered.

Fear had gripped Dean when he saw that pale bastard behind his brother in the meadow earlier. Maybe it had just been an illusion…or maybe _he_ was just teasing Dean again, building up Dean's paranoia, trying to knock him down without really doing anything at all. _He _was good at that. It was usually how things with _him_ started out before the long, drawn out mind games began.

* * *

_…December 29, 1988…_

"Deeeann! I wanna go outside," Sam whined as his small hands tugged at a nine year old Dean's jacket. His wide hazel eyes stared up at his older brother pleadingly. "I wanna make a snowman. All the other kids get to when it snows."

They were in upstate New York and had just gotten the motherload of snow; a vicious storm had whisked its way through the region overnight and throughout most of the day. Dean didn't like snow; it was cold and wet and, well, he just didn't like it.

But little Sammy was pulling those puppy-dog eyes on him; he looked up through his long, floppy bangs at Dean. The kid knew it worked every time.

"Fine. We can go outside for a half hour. But I don't need you gettin' sick on me. Dad's not gonna be back for another few days and I don't have enough money to buy any medicine." _That's if their father could even make it here in the snow. _Thirteen inches was what the weatherman on the news had said.

Sam let out a whoop of joy and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. "Thank you, Dean! You're the bestest big brother." He looked up at his older brother with a wide, gleaming grin all full of deep dimples and an empty spot where he had recently lost a baby tooth. "And I won't get sick. I promise," he added as an afterthought.

Dean ruffled Sam's hair and smiled back. "I'm gonna hold you to that. Now get your coat on and let's go. We got a snowman to build."

Sam ran across the small motel room and started tugging on his well-worn jacket – Dean figured Sam had to be something like its third owner – and then he found his threadbare mittens which were resting on the heater. "Ready!"

"Hey, runt, you forgot your shoes," Dean snickered.

That caused Sam to giggle. "Oh, yeah. I forgot." He found one shoe right away, but it took some time to find the other. (It had been in the bathroom under a pile of towels.)

Less than ten minutes later, the Winchesters were outside under the overcast sky; the sun was long gone, never really having been out at all today and everything was gray. There was a small side yard at the motel; it was boxed in by a fence of low-cut shrubs that had seen better days and a rundown bench sat at one end. Dean thought it would be the perfect place to build their creation. He helped Sam roll the base of the snowman and by the time they were done it nearly reached the older brother's waist.

"Gonna be tall like you," Sam exclaimed cheerfully, his breath coming out in white puffs in front of him. Dean noticed the hint of red at the apples of Sam's cheeks. The color looked good on the kid, made him look more alive than when he was stuck in these god-awful motel rooms while their dad was out hunting every kid's (and adult's) worst nightmare.

"I bet you're gonna be taller than me someday, Sammy."

"Nah."

"Why do you say that?" Dean was curious why Sam thought that.

"Because you're my _big_ brother. You're gonna always be bigger than me," he stated knowingly.

Dean chuckled. "I hope you're right about that," he said as he got started on the mid-section of the snowman. "Help me out, kiddo. This was your idea."

Once they got the ball rolling (no pun intended), Dean backed off and watched Sam. He laughed to himself when the younger Winchester slipped and fell on his face in the fluffy snow. The kid took it with a grain of salt and pushed back up, dusting the snow off his front, intent on getting his snowman built. Sam never gave up on anything, not when he had his mind set on it. Even at the tender, young age of five, he was stubborn…just like his brother and his father.

As Dean watched, he caught sight of someone lurking in the shadows of the parking lot watching them. He glanced at Sam to see if he'd noticed, but his brother was too focused on making the ball as big as his small frame could make it. When Dean looked back for the man, he was gone. – These seedy motels were always full of weirdos. – He would just have to keep an eye on things until they were done.

When he turned his attention back to Sam, Dean tensed and his heart nearly came to a crashing halt. _He_ was there. Slenderman was about ten feet off to Sam's right, silent and unmoving as usual. (That must've been who Dean had just seen.) It was the closest Dean had ever seen _him_ near his brother. Dean ran over to Sam and snagged the boy by his coat sleeve and yanked him towards the motel room. "Sammy, c'mon," he said quietly, trying to keep the sudden fear out of his voice; there was no sense making Sam scared.

Sam twisted out of Dean's hold and looked obstinately up at his brother with narrowed eyes. "No, Dean. I gotta finish. I'm not done yet."

Dean looked back to where the Thin Man was…but _he_ was gone. He stopped his argument as he spun around in place looking for _him._ _He_ was nowhere. After a full circle, Dean glanced back at Sam who was already back at the large snowball, rolling it through the snow and leaving a grassy, snowless patch in his wake.

"C'mon, Dean. Help me finish."

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean awoke to Sam shaking his shoulder. He jumped, knocking the empty whiskey bottle to the floor. "Goddammit!"

"Hey, calm down. You fell asleep." Sam said softly. "I just wanted to know if you wanted me to order some food."

The older brother rolled and picked the bottle up from the floor. He set it on the table and lay back once more with a groan. He hated when he fell asleep like that, always felt like shit after the fact.

"Actually, I was thinking of going out for a while. You're more than welcome to come along if you want."

Sam was at his bed and just pulling his sweatpants from his duffel. He dropped them back into the bag and turned to face Dean when his brother made his intentions known. Really, after everything that had happened during the last few days, he'd think his brother would want to just lie low for a while. "You're sure? I don't want to start a fight, but, man, what happened on the road earlier and back there at the field… Don't you think maybe we should stay in until you're feeling a little more up to it? Tomorrow we can put some distance between us and here. We could always hit some state out west; we haven't been out to the northwest in a while."

His brother didn't understand. Slendy wasn't biased; if _he_ wanted Dean (or Sam), he'd find them. And Dean wasn't going to hide like some frightened rabbit in a hole somewhere. But then again, whose eyes was he trying to pull the wool over? He was scared shitless of that _thing_ getting its hands on his brother. Nearly every time Dean had seen _him, _Slenderman would put gruesome images of Sam dying in one sick manner or another into his head. When he saw that son of a bitch out in the field earlier, standing mere feet from Sam…

"I just need to." The words were said more to himself than to Sam. "Just for a few hours. You and me, we could play some darts or something. I just need to take my mind off things and sitting here rotting in a motel room ain't gonna help."

Sam switched up and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It sounded like Dean already had his mind made up. "Okay. But you're not leaving my sight. I'm not driving back to New Hampshire to save your sorry ass again."

Dean knew his brother still wanted answers, but he kept mum much to Sam's annoyance. "Let me just take a quick shower." He got up from the bed and made his way across the room. "You leave me any hot water?"

* * *

They drove there. Dean held his breath as he steered the Impala down the strip of road where he had seen Slendy (and had been abducted from) the other night. If Sam noticed a change in his demeanor, he said nothing.

The low rumble of the Impala went quiet as Dean put the car into park and shut the engine down. As he stuffed his keys into his jacket pocket, a deep, racking cough hit him and he curled forward on himself.

Sam figured Dean had just swallowed wrong, so he waited it out as his brother turned red under the parking lot lights and continued to hack through the cough. It was a good three minutes straight before the man was able to catch his breath, albeit a little raggedly.

"Y'okay? Need some water? I think we have a bottle in the back."

Dean's voice was rough and scratchy when he answered. "I'm fine. Maybe I'm just comin' down with something." He wrenched the door open; it groaned loudly in protest as he climbed out of the car.

Sam followed Dean into the low light of the bar. He hadn't been here yet since the job started, but his brother had made several trips, the last being the other night when he had disappeared. They took a seat at a table near the side of the bar where the dartboard made itself at home. It wasn't their usual thing, sitting out in the open at a table, but Sam let Dean call the shots tonight.

"They've got really good food here," Dean commented as he flagged down a waitress.

* * *

They bypassed the offered menus and ordered a burger each with two baskets of fries and a couple of beers. When the food arrived, both men ate in companionable silence and Sam had to admit, Dean was right. The food was decent, even if he normally stuck to salads. A burger and fries definitely weren't going to kill him and were a good change once in a while. Actually, they tasted a hell of a lot better after depriving himself of them for long periods of time.

Two more beers and a shot of whiskey later, Dean challenged Sam to a game of darts. Sam accepted.

"Five or three?" Dean asked, referring to the fixed score of either 501 or 301 to start from.

"That all depends. How good are you feeling?"

"Not good enough," Dean smirked and took another swig of his beer.

"Okay, then." Sam grinned, eyes flashing with playful challenge. "Five." It would be a longer game and maybe he could get one up on the man after a few more drinks.

"Alright," Dean said as he went to the board and retrieved the darts. He split them up and handed Sam the three with black and green flights while keeping the black and red ones for himself. And then he gave Sam a look and waggled an eyebrow.

Sam laughed and shook his head as he dropped down from his stool. "You're gonna lose, dude."

"Don't hold your breath."

Dean shook out his right arm and flexed it, readying himself. Both brothers turned to face each other and then pumped their closed fists three times in front of them. Dean threw 'scissors'; Sam threw 'rock'.

"Dammit."

"Dude, all the time with the scissors. When are you ever gonna learn?"

"Shut up. – Okay, so I win, you get-" Dean let out another round of coughs, not as harsh as the one in the car, but it still wasn't great. He took a swig of beer before continuing. "-you get laundry duty for the next month. You win, well, you get the point."

Sam lifted his brow. "You sure?" He knew Dean was good at darts, but if he focused hard enough, Sam could beat his brother. It _had_ been done before.

* * *

Sam was leaning up against the table waiting for Dean to finish his turn. They were roughly halfway through the game – Dean was winning, even after his fifth beer – and Sam let out a tired yawn. He hadn't been left with any time to recuperate after the dig earlier.

Suddenly, Dean's last throw went wild hitting the wall and bouncing off to the floor. Sam saw his posture change almost immediately. He also noted Dean was looking off into the corner of the bar not far from where he himself was standing.

"Dean? Hey." Sam walked over to the fallen dart and crouched down to pick it up from the floor. He held it out to his brother. The man didn't acknowledge him; his eyes remained locked on the shadows. Sam glanced over again and saw nothing. "Dean, what? There's nothing there. Snap out of it." He leaned bodily over into the man's line of sight, but he still wasn't being acknowledged. Wide, green eyes were looking through him, pupils dilated. "Dean?" Sam reached out and gripped his brother's arm. When that didn't get a reaction, he stepped back. _What the fuck?_ Another look into the corner. Nothing. Well, then…

Sam gave Dean a final glance then walked over to the corner to see if he could pick up on anything. _That_ got a reaction out of Dean.

"SAM, NO!" Dean practically dove at him as he suddenly broke into motion, pushing him out of the way. "I won't let you have him!" he growled as he continued to move past Sam.

And then he disappeared.

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Please remember to comment. I love to hear from you, good and bad. It keeps the fire going :)


	3. Chapter 3

***CHAPTER 3***

* * *

_He_ was too close this time, right over Sam's shoulder. And several of those tentacle-like arms were stretched out, seemingly reaching for his brother. At first Dean froze; he was helpless, gripped in the morbid feelings of fear and despair that rose off the being in incessant waves. They pressed down on him, giving Dean a sinking feeling. He did his best to push them aside, to keep from drowning in them; Dean knew it was all in his head.

The older hunter ignored Sam's attempts at drawing his attention away from the creature because if he looked away, _he_ would move and it would be too late, game over; Slenderman would have Sam. But then his brother did something Dean hadn't expected him to. He started walking right towards _him._

That set Dean in motion.

"SAM, NO!" Dean launched forward, pushing Sam out of the way as he barreled into Slenderman. "I won't let you have him!" If he had to sacrifice himself, then so be it, but _he_ wasn't going to get his hands on Sam.

Dean suddenly found himself wrapped in Slenderman's iron-tight embrace, cheek pressed up against his chest.

He blinked and the bar was gone_._

* * *

"Dean!" Sam quickly recovered from being sent off-balance into the wall behind him and ran into the shadows to where his brother had just…vanished. He felt around on the wall, fingers slipping over the hickory paneling, searching frantically for a hidden door, looking for something that might tell him where Dean went. But he knew before he started that he wouldn't find anything.

"Fuck," he muttered as he turned around and leaned back against the wall, then slowly slid down to rest on his haunches. Sam had nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing, to go on. His stubborn idiot of a brother hadn't breathed a single word to him about whatever was going on and Sam was completely in the dark. He had nowhere to even begin.

His eyes dropped to the floor. It was made from what looked like reclaimed barn wood and its aged wooden planks had been meticulously polished until they shone under the vintage lamps hanging above the tables. As his gaze followed along the intricate lines of the wood grain, something caught his eye. He reached over to pick it up. It was a small piece of material. Sam's brow furrowed as he studied it in the low light of the bar.

It was black and looked to be some kind of wool-based fabric, certainly not from something Dean was wearing. (His brother had his usual jeans, cotton t-shirt, flannel overshirt, and utility jacket on.) It might not be anything at all – tons of people passed through this place every night; it could be from any one of them – but Sam knew better than to just ignore something that could be considered evidence, so he tucked it away into his jacket pocket for safe-keeping instead.

As he sat there, Sam tried to quell the panic that was rising up like a viper getting ready to sink its teeth into him, but it wasn't working out so well. He had no idea what to do.

Dean was gone…again.

* * *

Things were still and silent for an unknown span of time – Dean wasn't sure if he had lost consciousness or not – but when he opened his eyes, he saw trees. _What is it with the damn trees?_ Ominous shadows blanketed them and a cold breeze threaded through his short hair as he began to struggle against the bone-crushing hold Slenderman had him in.

"Dude, I've told you before, I'm not really the hugging type," Dean huffed out as he put a little more muscle into trying to get loose, face turning red from the exertion, but his effort was all in vain; he got nowhere. It pissed Dean off royally that he was as helpless as he was. Sometimes his life really sucked.

_"Why fight me, Dean? I will eventually get what I want; you already know that."_ The words drifted easily into the hunter's mind and he shuddered; they felt oily, contaminated. He hated when Slendy did that, got into his head like he had a timeshare or something.

"Screw you," Dean growled as he twisted and tried to somehow work his way out of Slendy's arms. "Somehow – I don't know how yet – I'm gonna take you down." Yeah, maybe Dean wasn't in the best of positions to be making a threat like that, but, hey, why not, right?

_"Your insolence entertains me, my little hunter. It is one of the reasons you are still around after all these years."_

"And all this time I thought it was because you thought I was adorable," Dean deadpanned.

The razor-sharp tip of one of Slenderman's tentacles reached over and caressed Dean's cheek, causing the man to flinch, but it didn't cut into him like he knew it was more than capable of doing. _"I need something from you."_

That caught Dean by surprise. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

_"Your brother, Sam, he intrigues me."_

Dean stilled, heart caught in his throat, and then he renewed his struggles. "You leave him alone, you son of a bitch! We had a deal."

The arms around Dean tightened, crushing him further into the soft material of the being's suit jacket, causing him to gasp for much needed air; his ribs felt like they were going to give at any second.

_"Oh, no, Dean. That changed a couple of months ago. Such a sweet, sweet tragedy that was, don't you think, how it broke your brother to pieces?"_

Dean's mind was growing too foggy, too quickly; he needed air, but he still managed a weak, "No…"

_"He is mine now."_

"You…can't. Please…" The hunter felt himself depending more and more on the creature to hold him upright as his oxygen-deprived body started to slump. He hated that he was reduced to begging, but he would do what he had to. He wouldn't let Sam go through what he'd been going through all these years.

Dean's pleading words were ignored. _"The bond between two siblings…such a remarkable thing it is. As he is your weakness, you are his." _Slenderman paused then. Dean forced himself to look up into the Thin Man's face; he _felt_ something else in its mind, almost as if it was reflecting on some thought or memory, but it was only fleeting and gone a moment later. "_But, tell me, there is something about Sam that keeps his mind closed off to me. What is it about him that makes him so special?"_

Special? There was nothing special about Sam. He was a little bit of a sensitive, but that was it. "N-nothing," Dean answered on a shallow exhale.

Apparently, his answer wasn't good enough. _"Tell me!"_ The demand came again, but louder this time; the words ricocheted off the inside of Dean's skull like a marble in a glass jar. Somewhere he heard the disturbing sound of bones shifting and popping. The hunter had heard the sound before, the night Sam left for Stanford; Slendy was pissed. When he was pissed, he grew; Dean felt the ground disappear under his feet.

"I…" Dean struggled for a breath of life-giving air. _Ah, hell._ "Go fuck yourself."

He heard the sound again – bones cracking – but this time they were his own and Dean screamed as his ribs snapped like twigs under the increasing pressure around him.

_"I will not be denied. I WILL HAVE HIM!"_

A defiant smirk broke through the pained expression on Dean's face. "Over…my…dead…body," he grit out between clenched teeth, even as his vision was beginning to fade.

Slendy wanted Sam, but couldn't get into his head, couldn't use that to wear him down; that was some relief, at hunter grunted when the tight hold on him was suddenly released and he slipped almost ten feet to the ground below. The fall shifted his broken ribs and he cried out in agony as he clenched an arm around his damaged ribcage, his breath ragged and panting.

When Dean pried his eyes open, he was alone.

* * *

Sam eventually made his way back over to their table where he just sat and stared at the too empty corner. Something told him Dean wasn't going to just pop back out of some spinning vortex like the crew from that old sci-fi show, 'Sliders', he and his brother had watched on occasion; that was just wishful thinking. He'd already tried calling Dean, but, like the last time, the call wouldn't go through.

Finally, he got up, tossed a few bills on the table, and left…only to walk into another problem: the Impala. The doors were locked and Dean had the keys. _Just fucking great_.

Dean would kick his ass if he hurt anything on his 'baby' to get in, so Sam looked around for an alternative to breaking a window. Up the street he spied a local garage; a couple of tow trucks were sitting out in its lot. He arched his brow and crossed his fingers as he jogged up the street. His luck held out when he found the door to one of them was left unlocked. It took longer than he wanted it to, but he found what he was looking for. Sam pulled the slim jim out from the stash of tools and rushed back to the Impala. Five minutes later he was leaning under the dash hotwiring the car.

"Sorry, Dean," he mumbled as he cut the necessary wires and got the car started after a few sparks.

There was nowhere for Sam to go but back to the room. It would be home base until he found Dean again…and he _would_ find his brother.

* * *

Sam booted up his laptop and immediately began scouring the internet for what might be going on with Dean. He really wished the man had opened up about what was going on. It would have made his search for whatever it was a hell of a lot easier. Maybe it would have even prevented this whole ordeal in the first place.

Almost two hours later, Sam leaned back in the chair and stared bleary-eyed at the screen. "Dean, dude." Sam shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. He blew out a frustrated breath and rubbed at his tired eyes. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it was just after one in the morning.

His gaze fell to his cell phone sitting on the stained laminate surface of the table beside the computer; there was a yellowish-brown cigarette burn right next to it. He picked the device up and dialed Dean's number. The call went directly to voice mail again. "Dammit!" He tossed the phone back onto the table in frustration.

Sam pushed his chair back and stood up, needing to take a break for a few minutes. He stretched, trying to get rid of the kinks in his back from sitting in the crappy, plastic piece of furniture for too long. He could feel knots of tension all throughout his muscles and knew there wasn't much he could do about them, not with Dean out there somewhere dealing with God only knew what.

Having gotten through his initial panic about what had happened, Sam was rolling over to 'pissed off'' mode. He wanted to blame Dean; it was the easiest thing to do. If – when – he found his brother, they were going to have a serious talk. Dean came for him, wanted Sam's help to find their missing father. Sam wouldn't call this 'working together'; it was far from it. Obviously, whatever was going on, Dean was in over his head.

Hell, Sam knew Dean had his secrets. They weren't exactly in each other's pockets. Sam had his own as well, one in particular that he wasn't planning on sharing any time soon. The fact that he had had dreams of Jess dying before it happened still disturbed him – something was just _wrong_ with that – and to this day Sam blamed himself for her death. If he had only done something…

After pacing the room and racking his brain for anything that might help point him in the right direction, Sam took a seat at the table again. His keystrokes were broken off a few minutes later when the monitor began to flicker and then cut out altogether. "Shit," he muttered as he gave it a few taps. And then he saw it…a reflection on the darkened screen. The entity that had been following him around was standing behind him, probably not more than eight feet away. The air in the room seemed thicker, heavier, somehow and Sam could sense an evil energy coming from the being, something he had never felt from it before. The hunter turned in his seat, only to see it slowly tilt its head and then disappear.

Sam frowned as the wheels started to turn in his head; connections were being made. He got up quickly, going over to the bed to retrieve his jacket. Sam reached into the front pocket and pulled out the piece of material he'd found at the bar just after Dean had disappeared. "Shit." It looked a hell of a lot like the suit his so-called spirit was wearing. _Why the hell hadn't he noticed that earlier? _Then again, until just now, he'd never seen the creature up close; it usually just lurked in the distance as it watched him.

A heavy thud followed by a soft, shuffling scrape coming from just outside the door had Sam snapping his eyes across the room; the dawning dread of his current speculations was forgotten for the moment. He was at the window almost instantly, Taurus drawn, safety off.

Sam slowly pulled the heavy curtains aside and looked out into the night; he wasn't sure what he was going to find out there after his recent visit. But what he saw had him unbolting the lock and ripping the door open a second later.

"Dean!"

His brother was hunched over against the door frame; his breathing was strained and he was holding his left arm protectively up against his side and chest. The muscle along Dean's jaw was tight and his eyes had lost their usual luster. The man was in some serious pain.

"Jesus, man. What the fuck happened to you?" He gingerly helped Dean up and through the threshold. Not knowing what was wrong with him, Sam kept his touches light.

"Just need to lie down," Dean mumbled between ragged breaths. "Long walk."

The older hunter had gotten lucky this time (if you could call it that). The forest Slendy had dumped him off in was the one just down the road where he'd seen the creature for the first time the other night. His phone hadn't quite survived the encounter and Dean had been forced to make the half mile walk back to the room…and that was only after wandering aimlessly in the woods for what seemed like forever. But he'd made it, even if it had hurt like a bitch.

"Yeah, okay." Sam helped his brother over to the bed. He was so full of questions – like, where the hell had Dean just come from? – but he'd hold off. Dean was back, hurt, but alive.

Once Dean was on the bed, he shifted to lie back, wincing. He knew he was going to have to ask Sam for help and that sucked. But broken ribs needed attention…and he wasn't sure if one had punctured his lung or not. He _was_ having a hell of a time breathing.

"Dean?"

Dean lifted a hand, telling Sam to hold on. "Just give me a minute." He could feel his brother's eyes on him, didn't have to have his own eyes open to know Sam was taking in everything that was wrong with him. "Gonna have to get the first aid kit, Sammy. Think we're gonna need it," he said without lifting his eyelids.

Sam didn't reply, but Dean heard him move across the room, heard the long drag of the zipper on the duffel being pulled open, and then he felt the bed dip when Sam came back and sat down next to him a minute later.

Dean opened his eyes then and sat up as carefully as he could; a muffled groan escaped his effort of hiding how bad he was hurting. "Fuck. – I'm gonna need you to help me get this stuff off." He began to fumble with his jacket. "Think I've got at least two broken ribs…the bastard."

Sam helped remove his brother's jacket. "You planning on letting me in on the big secret any time soon?" he finally asked, not being able to hold back any longer. "I mean, you fucking disappeared, man. Twice now in the last week. Whatever it is, it's obviously more than you can handle alone."

His coat and overshirt off, and now working on his t-shirt, Dean hissed in pain when he raised his arms up. "Can we – _fuck_ – just deal with this first?"

"Jesus Christ." Sam eyed the bruising that colored his brother's torso. Deep purples and blues painted the expanse of Dean's ribcage. He couldn't help but reach out and run trembling fingers along the man's side causing goosebumps to rise up under his touch. Dean had gotten it good. His hazel eyes darkened in fury as he took in the damage done to the older hunter. That thing – whatever it was – was going to pay for this. "Yeah, we'll fix you up, but after, you're gonna tell me what's going on. I'm not letting this happen again."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean shrugged off his brother's words, even though he knew they'd be having some sort of discussion at some point, and then he scooted forward, arm instinctively wrapping around himself again. "Just get this done."

"Yeah, alright. Hold still and no crying." That earned Sam a swat upside the head. The corner of his lip twitched up when he heard Dean gasp. "Take it easy there, big guy, don't wanna hurt yourself."

He grimaced when Sam began to palpate his side, looking for broken bones. "Shut up."

* * *

Dean felt his eyelids growing heavy. Between the liquor from earlier, the minor shock that his body was in, and the three pain killers that he had popped twenty minutes ago, he was shot. All he wanted to do was roll over and go to sleep, but…

"So…," Sam started. He was sitting on his own bed facing Dean, hunched over slightly with forearms resting on his knees; his fingers were laced loosely together where his hands hung down between his knees. The younger man's gaze was fixed on Dean; he was waiting for answers.

Dean shifted a little on the bed; his ribs felt stiff and he was beginning to feel an itch under the ace bandages which, by the way, felt like they were holding him together. "Do we have to talk about this tonight?" _Really, tomorrow would be better._ _Actually, make that never._

"Dean." Sam's voice was low and full of warning. His kid brother knew him too well.

"Seriously, Sam. I have a killer headache and I'm tired. – And, shit, I gotta take a leak." The last thing he wanted to do was get back up, but the drinks from earlier were wreaking havoc on his bladder.

Dean knew Sam was going to get pissed off, but it wouldn't be the first time; he'd get over it. He maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed and braced himself as he stood up. The heat of Sam's glare burned into him, but he chose to ignore it as he made his way around the younger man's long, sasquatch legs which were taking up most of the space between the two beds.

* * *

Sam watched the door close behind Dean. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and sighed. Even after all of this, his brother still didn't want to talk. Well, he was going to get Dean to talk whether he liked it or not.

A few minutes later, Dean reappeared and was in the middle of carefully turning down his blankets when Sam spoke up.

"He has no face." The younger Winchester watched as his brother tensed. _So, I'm on to something._

The kid had found something, dammit. And Dean knew exactly what his brother was doing; he was baiting him. "Sam, just, please," he pleaded, "can't we drop it for the night." Sam didn't know how dangerous it was to just be talking about _him._

"Why won't you talk about it? What's got you so scared?"

Dean turned and looked at Sam. There was no anger in the man's green eyes, only concern. Sam could clearly see that his brother was worried. "The less you know, the safer you are."

"You're worried about me? Is that why you haven't told me what's going on? Seriously?" Sam nearly screeched. "Fuck, Dean. You're the one with three broken ribs. Don't you think we should be worrying about you instead? How do we know it's not gonna kill you next time?"

Sam couldn't help it; he was crashing from the overwhelming emotions of the day and unbidden tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't lose Dean. The man was all he had left. As far as he was concerned, their father was already gone, probably dead; the man hadn't answered any of their recent calls.

"C'mon, Sam. Don't do this. If it hasn't killed me yet-"

"Yet?" Sam cut his brother off. "How long has this thing been after you? Talk to me, Dean."

Dean looked down at the worn carpet between them, a quiet cough broiled in his chest and he did his best to keep it down. Okay, he could tell Sam a little, put him at ease some. But he wouldn't tell his brother _who_ was stalking him. Slenderman was one of those creatures where the more you knew about him, the stronger he became, the easier it made it for him to hunt your ass down. He wouldn't do that to Sam.

He took a seat next to the younger man, lowering himself slowly so as not to jar his ribs. "Look, I'll answer whatever questions I can, but I can't tell you everything, not right now. You have to trust that I know what I'm doing." _I'm protecting you._

Dean's words had Sam automatically wanting to delve deeper, but he forced himself to take this thing one step at a time. "Yeah, okay. I got it." He turned on the bed, tucking one foot up under the opposite knee. Once he was comfortable, he repeated his earlier question. "So, how long?"

Dean thought back in his mind. He had been little, but he remembered it clearly the first time he saw him. "It was the night of the fire."

"Since Jess died?" That was the first thing that came to Sam's mind. It would coincide with when he first started to see _it._ When Dean didn't answer right away, it dawned on Sam. "Oh, god. You mean _the_ fire? Since Mom?"

Dean nodded; his eyes came up and met with Sam's. He read the shock in the wide, almond-shaped eyes of his brother.

"Shit. But you were only four years old," he said, stunned.

"And I've dealt with _it_ ever since then. So, see why I don't need your help now? I'll get through this. He always goes away."

"Who is _he_, Dean?"

_Shit._ "Don't ask me to tell you anything about _him_. This is my problem, not yours." Dean would make this all go away before Sam got hurt. He had to; he didn't have a choice.

"But-"

"No, Sam."

Sam leaned back against the headboard and dropped his head against the wall in frustration. _What questions would Dean answer?_ "Has he hurt you before?"

"He's roughed me up some, but I've managed to survive."

_Now if that's not a vague answer._ "Has he done worse than that?" Sam gestured to Dean's newly wrapped chest.

"Don't worry about it."

"Goddammit, Dean!" Sam sat forward and pinned Dean with a fiery glare. "Why won't you open up and let me help?"

"Because I'm trying to keep _him_ from getting to you, okay!" _Fuck. _Dean silently berated himself for letting that one out of the bag.

"Me?" Sam sat there, slack-jawed. _What did this thing want with him_? Dean was the one disappearing and getting his ass handed to him. "How… Why? Dean, what _is_ he?" Sam's thoughts turned to his silent watcher, to what he had assumed, until tonight, was just a displaced spirit.

"Never mind. I've got it handled." Dean started to get up. As he did, he heard Sam mumble something about 'bullshit', but he didn't bother answering to it. He had to shut this conversation down before his brother got too much to go on. Mr. Wizard over there only needed a few clues and he'd have the whole riddle figured out in no time. It seemed he already knew more than he should. It was probably a good thing that there wasn't much out there to find on _him._

When Dean was old enough, he started researching the creature. Bobby's library was a treasure trove of supernatural lore. (If you didn't find something you were looking for in it, it usually didn't exist.) He'd found small scraps of information on Slenderman, but nothing on how to kill the creature. Later, when the internet came along, he'd made use of it, but only to come to the same dead end: no one knew how to kill the thing. Dean knew that eventually it would probably be his demise, but he'd do his damnedest to protect Sam in the meantime.

"You know, he was here, just before you showed up."

Dean's knees nearly gave out then. – He had hoped that Sam would never have to see Slendy, that his supposed immunity would keep _him_ away from his brother. – Somehow he made it over to his bed. "That son of a bitch," he cursed under his breath. "Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?"

"Aside from the creep factor? No, he didn't do anything. Before tonight, I always just thought he was some harmless spirit or something. You know I've had a couple of 'em latch onto me before."

"You've seen him before?" Dean watched Sam and saw a flash of hurt in his brother's eyes before he replied.

"Um, yeah. Since Jess died, he's been around."

"And you didn't bother to tell me?"

Sam looked over at Dean; anger flashed in his multi-colored eyes. He couldn't believe Dean had just said that. "Ohhh, don't even, Dean. Don't even go there."

As Sam's nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a tight line, Dean thought, _Okay, maybe that was a little too much like the pot calling the kettle black._ "Forget it. I'm tired and I'm saying shit I shouldn't be." He lay down on the bed without waiting for a reply and pulled the blankets up over himself. "Let's just get some sleep."

In the last few minutes, Sam had noticed a slight slur in his brother's speech. The pain meds had to have been kicking in by now; he was sort of surprised Dean hadn't passed out already. And it was late; they could continue this conversation tomorrow after they both got some rest. "Good night, Dean." Sam settled down into the bed and turned over.

No matter how much the 'big brother' in Dean wanted to stand guard over Sam all night, there was no way he'd be able to. The pills Sam had forced him to take earlier were some fancy, high-end prescription and they were doing their thing. He would just have to rely on the fact that Sam was protected by something. At least the kid had that much going for him.

"G'night, Sam." Dean's answer was muffled by the blankets as well as a groan when another cough forced its way out.

* * *

_…June 14, 1991…_

The sun had set a little over an hour ago and Dean was sitting out on the back steps of the rundown house their father had decided to rent while they had finished out the remainder of the school year. The far edge of the property butted up to a small section of undeveloped woodland – it was up for sale though, so it probably wouldn't be long before some contractor moved in and cleared all the trees out – and the call of thousands of crickets sounded from all around him disturbing the otherwise quiet night. He wasn't interested in sitting inside with Sam, who was eating Spaghetti O's while watching re-runs of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and their father was currently too occupied at the wobbly kitchen table – the fourth leg was propped up and a couple of old magazines to help keep it steady – going over maps of central Montana for Dean to bother. They were heading out first thing in the morning. _So much for a relaxing summer vacation._

He flipped through a girlie magazine he had stolen from the quickie mart down the street and sighed. Dean couldn't concentrate on the pages full of naked women. Today had been the last day of school – _thank god _–but there were plusses and minuses of finishing up this particular year. In the fall, Dean would be starting middle school. Yeah, that was good and all, but he'd no longer be able to keep an eye on Sammy; his brother would be left alone to fend for himself as he started the third grade, his first time ever being without his older brother. That didn't settle well with Dean, not at all. He knew it wouldn't hit his brother until September, when John would be the one dropping him off at school every day. Actually, Dean didn't know how that was going to work either because that would mean their dad would have to be around _every_ day. (That was like asking for a miracle.) Dean would still make sure he was there to pick Sam up after school; it would help make things a little easier.

As these thoughts floated around in his young head, Dean continued to absently flip through the pages of the smut mag. His favorite, Destiny, was on the cover. (Hey, he might only be twelve, but you had to start somewhere.) Off in his peripheral vision he saw something…or thought he had.

Dean slowly closed the magazine and put it down on the step before reaching for the small silver knife that he kept strapped to his ankle. He unbuckled it and stood up. At first he didn't see anything, just the long shadows falling across the backyard, but his burgeoning hunter instincts told him something was there. The young hunter knew he should probably go inside, get his dad, but he didn't.

He pressed his back up to the wall of the house and slid along it. – Dean cursed his eyes for taking so long to adjust to the darkness as he moved out of the circle of light cast down from the back porch. – As he approached the side of the house, he peeked around the corner, eyes scanning the yard. Nothing. _Maybe it had just been some animal?_ It wouldn't surprise him, not with the woods so close. Less than two weeks ago, he and Sam had spotted a black bear wandering through the yard.

The breath Dean didn't know he'd been holding finally escaped and a nervous laugh eased out of his throat as he shook his head. "Dean, you're too jumpy, dude." He turned to go back into the house. Sam should be done with his dinner by now and Dean wanted to make sure his brother got a shower in before bed tonight.

Dean walked right into something…or rather _someone_. The scream that formed in his throat was silenced almost immediately as long, spider-like arms wrapped around him and pulled him tightly against the being in front of him; his nose rubbed against the silky black tie. Dean couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't call out for help as he and his silent captor winked out of sight.

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes, he knew at once that something was far from right. The house was still there, as was the yard, the Impala…and he could even see his dad through the kitchen window. What told him things were different was the lack of anything…no sound, no movement – John Winchester stood leaning over the table, unmoving, not even a breath – no heat, no cold, no smells. It was as if he was in a vacuum.

The young hunter spun around and looked at the Pale One. The being stood just as motionless as his father in the house, but Dean knew it could damn well move if it chose to do so. A foreboding chill ran down his spine as his gaze was drawn into the hollow area of pallid skin stretched tautly over where eyes should be.

"W-what d-do you w-want?" Dean managed to stutter out.

"_You."_ The word echoed deep in his mind.

He attempted to move back a step, but his body wouldn't listen. Instead, he was forced to take several steps forward. When he came to a stop, Dean was only inches from the being. The hunter had no idea how that worked other than he had felt a pull in his mind. He shook his head. "No. I've told you before, you need to go away…leave me alone. I don't know what you want, but you can't have me!"

_"But my child, don't you know? You are already mine. I will never go away." _Suddenly, a thick coiling appendage shot out from behind the creature's back and wrapped around Dean's neck; he found himself helpless in its relentless grip. The end of the 'arm' slid under his chin and caressed his tender flesh as they stared at one another. – Dean might be young, but his moss-green eyes burned with a hatred only those who've seen too much could carry. – He flinched when the being nicked his skin; his blood trickled hotly down the column of his neck, wetting the collar of his t-shirt. _"If you try to fight me, others will suffer." _A brief flash of Sam was shown to Dean's mind's eye. "_Starting with him."_

"No." Dean barely blinked…and _it_ was gone. He stumbled back a step, gasping for breath as the sound of crickets filled his ears once more. When he looked inside the house, John was taking a pull from a bottle of beer; it was as if nothing had happened. Dean wiped the underside of his neck with the back of his hand and flinched at the sting of the raw wound.

_It_ had just threatened Sammy. Dean was pissed; he was scared. And he was alone. If he went to his dad for help, Sam would get hurt. Dean wasn't going to let that happen.

* * *

That night was the first time Dean had ever had physical contact with Slenderman. It was also the first time it had ever forced its will upon him or caused bodily harm however slight it was.

He shivered as he stood there surrounded by the night, not because he was cold – no – but because Slenderman had spoken the truth when he had said Dean was already his. _He_ knew Dean's weakness.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

As exhausted as he was, Dean was restless and found himself tossing and turning. Every time he did, his ribs cried out, keeping him awake even longer. But eventually he fell asleep. He didn't dream, but he wouldn't have considered it a peaceful sleep either.

Outside, the moon was in the infant stages of its monthly phase and it was one of those almost too dark nights. A lamp just on the other side of the window cut through the almost impenetrable shroud of darkness and sent long shadows skittering across the floor of their room.

One of those shadows seemed to have a life of its own as it slid up the side of Dean's bed.

* * *

Something had stirred Sam from his sleep. He didn't move, but rather remained still, keeping quiet. He just listened. One of the first things he noticed was that he didn't hear Dean's steady breathing coming from the other bed. Sam opened his eyes then and he was startled to see his brother standing at the foot of his bed staring down at him, silent as death.

"Dean?"

No answer.

Sam scooted up and reached over to the nightstand to turn the small lamp on so he could see. As he did, he noticed it was close to 4:00 a.m. They'd only been sleeping for a couple of hours. Scratch that, _he_ had been sleeping for a couple of hours. He couldn't be so sure about Dean.

"Dean?" He looked over at his brother as the room lit up under the soft amber glow of the light.

The man didn't respond. He just stood there staring, watching Sam. What really creeped the younger brother out was how the corner of Dean's lip was tilted up in a half-smile. Something was so not right about this.

The younger brother kept his guard up as he threw the blankets off himself and got out of bed; he made sure not to take his eyes from the man as he did. There was still no movement except for the fact that Dean's eyes followed him.

"Dude, stalker much?" Sam tried to kid, but it didn't lighten the not-so-good feeling he had about this whole situation.

Since he wasn't getting any reaction from the man, Sam squared his shoulders and moved towards the foot of the bed. He had to get his brother to snap out of this…thing, whatever it was.

As he approached the man, Dean finally moved. He turned to face Sam as Sam got closer. The expression on his face didn't change though. When Sam was close enough, he noticed Dean's eyes were fully dilated; the bottle-green of his irises was nearly washed out by obsidian.

Sam took a moment to look over his brother. The state he was in was trance-like; it reminded him of someone when they were sleepwalking, but Dean had never been one to do that before. His breathing appeared to be normal. His coloring was fine. Everything looked okay except for his eyes and that damned disturbing smirk that wouldn't go away.

Dean's right hand slowly came up and cupped the side of Sam's face, its thumb smoothing over the day-old stubble on his chin. It was an odd touch – Dean had never touched him like that before – and Sam backed away from it. It felt all wrong. Dean was wrong…_off. _He wasn't himself.

"Dean? Dean, man, snap out of it." Sam reached up and waved his hand in front of his brother's face. Nothing, just that blank stare and creepy-ass smile.

And then suddenly, Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Sam by the wrist. His fingers dug sharply into the thin flesh causing him to cry out, half in pain, half in surprise.

As Sam fought against his brother's grip, he never noticed the dark figure hovering in the shadows in one corner of the room.

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

**Author's Note: **For any Slenderman purists out there, I know Slendy isn't known to speak, but for this fic to make sense I took a little creative initiative and allowed him to telepathically 'speak' to Dean, otherwise we'd have a lot of blank staring going on for the duration of this fic and no one would know what was going on. LOL! I could have changed this fic drastically and went in that direction (I could have made it work somehow), but I chose to go this route. I think, for the reader, it works better.

I appreciate any comments, good or bad.


	4. Chapter 4

***CHAPTER 4***

* * *

Sam tried to pull out of his brother's vice-like grasp, but the man wouldn't let go; Dean only dug his fingers in further, crushing tendons and muscle, causing the younger man to grimace in pain.

"Dean, c'mon, man, let go!"

There was no response from the elder Winchester, no recognition in his eyes, just that damn freaky stare. The more Sam struggled, the tighter Dean's grip got. His options were fairly limited at this point; he didn't want to hurt Dean any more than he already was. A full-on physical confrontation wasn't something Sam wanted to get into, not unless there was absolutely no other choice.

"You're hurting me, dude." Sam tried one last time, hoping to get through to the man; his brother had to be in there somewhere and Sam knew Dean would never purposely hurt him. And, just for a second, Sam saw something in the man's eyes change; the faraway look seemed to focus in on Sam like he was trying to overcome whatever was going on – "Dean?" – but, just as suddenly as it was there, it was gone, and that smirk twisted into a cold and malicious sneer. _Shit._

Dean moved fast, almost too fast. Sam barely had enough time to react before his brother spun him around and wrenched his arm up behind his back, locking it in place; the muscles in Sam's shoulder rebelled against the strain and he cried out, and then he was kicked down to his knees onto the rough carpet at their feet.

Sam tensed when hot breath tickled the side of his neck. Dean spoke then, his voice quiet and deadly. "The game has only just begun for you, my child." The words sent an icy chill up the younger hunter's spine. No sooner were they said than the tight hold on Sam's arm was released and he felt Dean move away.

Not one to waste a chance given to him, Sam took advantage of his moment of freedom and jumped up to his feet. He spun around to face his brother – or _whoever_ it was at that particular moment – expecting some sort of confrontation, but Dean was just standing there, arms hanging limply at his sides in the most non-aggressive manner.

Sam took a hesitant step forward. "Dean?" As he got closer, he saw that the older Winchester's expression was disturbingly blank; there was no emotion, only an unnatural nothingness. The brother who had practically raised Sam his entire life didn't, for all intents and purposes, appear to be at home. A deep tremor passing through Dean's body stopped Sam in his tracks only a few feet away from reaching him; it was followed by a long, shuddering breath. _Now what?_ he thought to himself.

Dean's brows drew together and he blinked a few times. A tangle of emotions suddenly spilled into the previously vacant features, the most prominent of which was confusion.

"Sammy?" The name came out on a cracked whisper.

Sam closed the gap between himself and Dean in two long strides and pulled the man into a hug. "Dean. Shit, man, I thought I lost you." He held onto his brother for maybe a bit longer than was necessary. Call him selfish, but he needed the physical reassurance to help calm himself down after what had just happened. "Y'okay?" he asked as he pulled away.

Dean felt dazed for a moment and then a cold, hard knot began to form in the pit of his stomach; he ignored the ache in his ribs from Sam's too tight embrace. "Fuck!" he swore as the realization of what had happened sank in. "What did he do, Sam? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Dean. You..._he_…didn't hurt me."

His brother was holding something back. Just the fact that the first thing Sam did when he came around was hug him told Dean something had happened. _Goddammit! He _had used Dean to get to Sam.

* * *

_…May 1, 1996…_

Dean tackled Sam to the floor and held him down, giving him a noogie while he was at it.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, twisting under his brother's heavy weight. "Dude, get offa me!"

"Nope. Not gonna happen. You shrank my favorite Zeppelin shirt."

Sam bucked up and squirmed, finally managing to get one arm free, but Dean caught it and resituated himself higher on Sam's back. – He had to admit, Sam was getting harder to hold down these days. – Dean gave another solid scuff of his knuckles through Sam's unruly hair.

"Ow, you asshole!"

"You better not let Dad hear you talking like that."

"Fuck you!"

Sam let loose then, asserting a strength the older Winchester still wasn't used to his little brother having; and Dean suddenly found himself face down on the floor, nose digging into the worn nap of the carpet, with his brother's boney knee digging down into the small of his back; his wrists were held securely over his head in Sam's strong grip. _Holy shit._ Dean twisted and writhed under the kid, mirroring Sam's desperate moves from a minute ago.

Sam chuckled in triumph as he held his brother down. "You were the last one to do the laundry. Don't blame me." – Sam knew full well that that wasn't true. He himself had done the laundry last; payback had been gotten. – "Maybe you're just gettin' fat," he added with a chuckle as he wiggled his knee, pressing in a little harder, but not enough to really hurt his brother. "Take it back and I'll consider letting you go."

Dean laughed. He wasn't about to give in that easily. He _was_ a Winchester after all. "Don't think so, Sammy." Sam could move fast, but Dean still had more weight, muscle, and an extra seven or so inches on his brother…plus experience.

Sam's eyes were wide when he found himself back down in his original position with Dean over him again. He couldn't wait until he hit his growth spurt; he was so going to get Dean back then. "You suck," Sam panted in resignation as he let his body go lax under his brother.

"No, actually, I think you do. You're gettin' sloppy on those moves, kiddo." When Dean felt his brother relax under him, he reached down and ruffled Sam's hair before backing off and standing up. If one of them got hurt screwing around, their dad would have his head. "And I know for a fact you were the last one to do the laundry. You owe me a new shirt."

Sam rolled over and stared up at Dean. "Serves you right for making me do your chores while you ran off to play kissy-face with that cheerleader. I hope it was worth it." He smirked, knowing he was openly admitting his guilt.

That earned him a pillow to the head. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

Their brotherly moment was overshadowed by the fact that it was Sam's thirteenth birthday tomorrow. It was the Winchester's 'Coming of Age'. Dean had gotten his first 'real' gun then, and it was also the time when he had started rigorously training to become the hunter he was today. Not long after, he had started to regularly go on jobs with their father (when he wasn't in school). Now it was Sam's turn. John would be back late tonight from his latest solo gig and tomorrow Sam's whole life would change.

Dean wanted one last night to have some fun with his little brother before Sam's innocence became a thing of the past. Having gone out earlier, he had rented "Se7en" and "Die Hard: With a Vengeance" and had a full night of T.V. entertainment planned.

But things didn't quite go as expected…

Sam almost didn't make it to his thirteenth birthday.

It took years for Dean to get over it; it nearly broke him.

* * *

It had been almost a year since Dean had last seen the Thin Man. So far, it was the longest stretch of time between visits and he had hoped that maybe the creature had gotten bored with him and had moved on. But when had Winchester luck ever been that good?

Sam was back at the room making a bag of microwavable popcorn – they were going to watch "Se7en" first – and Dean had gone across the parking lot to retrieve a couple of sodas from the vending machine.

Two cans already in hand, he was currently eying the snack machine. A smile lit up Dean's face when he saw the two-pack of Hostess cupcakes…perfect for Sam's impromptu birthday cake. Heaven knew John wasn't going to get the youngest Winchester anything for his big day, nothing except some long – and probably painful – training exercises, and maybe his own gun if the kid was lucky.

The coins were loud in the silent evening as he slotted them into the machine. Dean pushed the selection button and watched as the coil slowly released its hold on the chocolate snack before sending the package into the catch bin below. The light above him flickered precariously as he waited and his eyes re-focused briefly on the glass in front of him.

The cans of soda slipped out of his fingers, one bursting open as it hit the ground and spraying its contents on the shin of Dean's jeans; he didn't notice. Instead, the bottom of his stomach dropped out. He didn't move…_couldn't_.

_"Mine,"_ the quiet voice hissed in his head.

A sudden pressure built up in Dean's mind and then he knew no more.

* * *

"Dean!" a gruff, but familiar voice cut into the dark void of his mind, causing Dean to stir. "Dean, son, wake up."

Dean felt himself being shaken lightly. A warm hand fell to his face and he felt its calloused palm curl around his cheek; there was a slight tremble in the fingers.

When he blinked his eyes open, he saw his dad's worried brown eyes staring down at him. "Dad?" Dean tried to sit up, but the man held him where he was. And then he noticed the cold steel of handcuffs biting into his wrists. Anxious green eyes blinked up at the elder Winchester then. "Dad, what's goin' on?"

"I was hopin' you'd tell me. I got back here and..." The older man dropped his head, looking down at the floor. When he looked back up at Dean, the lines on his face seemed to have deepened; he looked older, worn out. "God, Dean… Sam…what you were doing to him…"

Dean broke out of John's hold then and backpedaled from the man, sitting up. He looked around the room as he pushed up to his feet somewhat awkwardly with the way his hands were bound behind his back. Sam wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Where is he, Dad? Where's Sammy?"

"I called Bobby. He came and got him."

"Bobby?" The man was three, maybe four hours away. _What the hell had happened?_ He had just gone out to grab a couple of sodas… Dean's thoughts trailed off when it came back to him. "Fuck. – Dad… Oh, god, is he okay? What'd I do to him?" If he had hurt Sam…

"Dean, calm down. Sam's gonna be alright." John stood up and went over to his jacket which was draped over the back of a chair at the small breakfast table. "What do you remember?" he asked as he sifted through the front pocket and pulled out the key to the cuffs.

"Nothing really." Dean lied. Slenderman had made it perfectly clear, time and time again, that if Dean told anyone about him, he would wipe what was left of the Winchesters clear off the map. "I just went out to grab a couple of sodas…"

"Do you remember smelling any sulfur, seeing any black smoke?"

Dean frowned at the odd question and then shook his head 'no'. "Not that I noticed. – Dad, please, what'd I do to him?" Dean had to know, no matter how bad it was.

"Can I trust you if I take those off?" John gestured to the handcuffs.

"I don't know." Really, he didn't know. Dean couldn't remember jack squat after _he_ showed up. Obviously, he'd lost his mind…literally. That pale ass mother fucker had done something to him, gotten into his head. And then he had done something to Sam.

The older hunter assessed Dean for a moment longer; his lips were pressed in a tight line and a muscle along his jaw twitched as he contemplated the risks. "I'll take 'em off, but until I'm sure, I want you to keep your movements slow, hands out where I can see them."

"Yeah, okay. No problem." Dean turned his back to the man and sighed in relief when the cuffs came undone and he felt the blood rushing back into his hands. He brought them around and started to rub some life into them. "So?" he asked again as he sat down at the foot of his and Sam's bed.

John was sitting at the table, rubbing at his temple. He was stalling; Dean could plainly see that. The man didn't want to tell him what had happened.

"Dad? Whatever it is-"

"You were seconds away from killing him." The words were weary, tired. "When I came in the door, he was already unconscious and you were…you had your gun to his head." John pushed up from the table and slammed an open palm into the wall in fury. – Something had gotten to his boys. – The sound reverberated through the tiny room causing the younger Winchester to jump even as his own heart seized at his father's words.

Dean got up and ran into the bathroom where he proceeded to lose the meager contents of his stomach.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean didn't bother going back to bed; he had too much adrenaline coursing through his system to even consider it. Instead, he paced the room non-stop. What little breaks he took were spent standing by the window staring out into the withering darkness.

Sam had dozed off on the bed not too long ago; he hadn't said much more about what had happened. As Dean leaned against the window frame, arms folded over his chest, he glanced at his brother. Sam was slouched over where he had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him; one hand was resting in his lap, the other at his side.

A better part of Dean's life had been spent going head-to-head with Slenderman, dealing with the creature on his own. When he was younger, the Thin Man had made threats against his family, scared Dean into keeping his mouth shut about what was going on, the typical bullshit any predator lays on kids. Dean had kept his end of the deal all these years, had said nothing, even if the evil son of a bitch hadn't quite kept up with his end on occasion. That seemed to be the norm when you dealt with supernatural beings; it was like they enjoyed grinding their heel down on you or something. But now that deal was off according to Slendy.

The cards had been re-dealt; a whole new game was on the table now and the thing hadn't wasted its time getting to Sam. The younger Winchester may have denied that he'd been hurt, but Dean could already see the angry, finger-shaped bruising around Sam's wrist; it wasn't pretty. As far as Dean was concerned, war had been declared. It would be bloody – he knew that – but this was going to end…now.

And Dean reluctantly had to admit that Sam was right; this was too much for him to handle alone, always had been. He was going to have to pull his brother in on this one even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. But the younger man had proven, in a short space of time, to be almost as good a hunter as himself; Sam wasn't just some little brat of a kid anymore. Sam could handle it. They'd bring this thing down together.

But that didn't mean Sam had to know everything.

* * *

Sam woke up to the sound of Dean taking a shower. He noticed right off that their bags were packed and placed over by the door; a fresh stack of clothing had been laid at the foot of his bed. It didn't look like Dean had gotten much sleep since everything had gone down last night.

Speaking of, he looked down at his right wrist. There was no way he was going to be able to hide the deep bruising that had blossomed over his flesh. Even long sleeves weren't going to cover it completely. And hell, Dean, being who he was, had probably already seen it.

By the time he gathered himself up enough to get out of bed, the bathroom door opened and Dean walked out into the room, a trail of steam following behind him. He already had his jeans on and was scuffing a threadbare towel through the short spikes of his sand-colored hair. Sam eyed the dark purples and blues covering Dean's bare torso.

Dean caught Sam staring at him. "Why don't you make yourself useful instead of staring at me like I'm the hottest thing you've ever seen." He smirked. "I can't re-wrap these myself." He gestured to his ribs. Before getting in the shower, Dean had popped a few ibuprofen; they had helped take the edge off some, but he was still hurting more than he cared for. Another bout of coughing up a lung had hit him in the shower, too. _That_ had felt wickedly awesome.

"Dude, you are so far from the 'hottest' thing I've ever seen." Sam chuckled as he got up to retrieve the first aid kit for some fresh bandages.

Dean took a seat at the foot of his bed while he waited for his brother. "Your wrist okay? Nothing's sprained or broken, is it?" The bruise had darkened some since he'd first noticed it.

Sam swallowed as he stood up from the weapons duffel where they kept the first aid kit, the box in his hand. "It's alright. Looks worse than it is." In truth, it did hurt – a lot – but he knew the guilt the man would carry if he told him how it had felt like his bones had been grinding together under Dean's too strong grasp.

* * *

Sam was half standing on the floor and half kneeling on the bed so he could reach around Dean to wrap his damaged ribs with careful and steady hands. He noticed as he worked that the man was too quiet; the only noise he made was a groan and a low curse when his cough started to creep up on him once more. (Thankfully for Dean it had receded before it really amounted to much.)

"Dean, really, I'm fine."

"It's not that," Dean mumbled. He chewed on his bottom lip and sighed; his shoulders sagged slightly and he looked down at his lap where he picked at a small hole that was starting in the thigh of his jeans. "I never went back to bed after…"

"I sorta gathered that." Sam passed the bandage under Dean's arm again, keeping silent, letting Dean take this at his own pace.

"I'm…I'm not sure I can stop this thing alone, Sam." There. Dean had said it. He hated that he did, but it was done now. The request for help was out there; Sam would know it for what it was.

Sam paused halfway over Dean's back and held the bandage in place with a hand. Dean was asking for help. "Yeah, alright," he replied quietly with a nod. "We'll put our heads together on this and we'll get it done." And then he looked down and finished up with his task. A few minutes later, Sam slipped the final clips into place.

"Thanks," Dean said as he picked up his t-shirt and tugged it over his head. "I wanna be on the road as soon as we can manage, so why don't you go get a quick shower in. We'll stop somewhere to eat once we get some miles behind us."

Sam hesitated, there were a million and one things he wanted to know, but he wasn't surprised when the man didn't offer up anything more. And Sam knew, if he pushed now, Dean would shut down. There was a delicate balance of give and take with his brother and the man would talk only when he was ready. "Yeah, okay. Just give me ten minutes. Looks like you already got everything packed." Sam got up and stowed the first aid kit away and grabbed the pile of clothes Dean had left out for him before heading off to the bathroom.

"Yeah, all but you, so get your lanky ass movin' already."

Sam quirked a small smile at his brother's comment. Dean was trying to cover what he perceived to be a moment of weakness by smothering it with snarky humor. _Typical,_ he thought to himself. But at least Dean was finally admitting that he needed help.

* * *

When Sam came out of the bathroom, Dean was leaning up against the table, legs crossed at the ankle, and twirling his keys on his index finger. "You have a little problem with the car last night?" _Shit._ He had forgotten all about that. The older man lifted an eyebrow at his hesitation. "Well?"

"Dude, I keep tellin' you to get a second key made for that thing."

"Baby is not a 'thing'; _she's_ my car. And she's not too happy with _you_ right now."

Sam rolled his eyes. Even after all these years, Dean still treated that car like it was an actual person. "Hey, it was either do that or leave _her _at the bar all night."

A muscle in his brother's jaw ticked and Sam waited, daring him to make some sort of sarcastic reply. The man began to open his mouth, causing the younger brother to stand up to his full height and narrow his eyes. Dean snapped his mouth shut then and swallowed; he knew Sam was right.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Sam commented with a knowing smirk as he pushed his feet into his shoes and pulled his t-shirt down over his head. When he was done, Sam tucked his dirty clothes and his toiletry bag into his duffel and zipped it shut. "Well, I'm ready when you are."

"Good. But you still owe me since I had to fix the wires. It's not fun leanin' under the dash with broken ribs, just so you know. And because of that, you're gonna play pack mule today. Hee haw!" Dean threw his head back and cackled as he turned to head out to the car.

"That's a donkey, jackass," Sam called out with a grin.

To that, Dean peeked his head back around the corner. "Mule, donkey, jackass, you; all the same, stubborn pain in the ass." And then he was gone before Sam had a chance to reply.

Sam shook his head and laughed to himself as his brother disappeared again. He pulled his jacket on and shouldered their bags being careful of his wrist. (Somehow he was going to have to keep Dean from seeing how much it was bothering him…just a couple of days was all he needed.) Giving one last glance around the room, Sam followed Dean out to the awaiting Impala. He couldn't say that he wasn't happy to be leaving this place.

* * *

They had been heading west on the interstate for about twenty minutes when Sam shifted in the seat. Dean saw the quick sideways glance from his brother and knew the questions were getting ready to take flight. He cut his brother off before he could get started.

"We'll talk, Sam. Let's just get something to eat first, okay? I need some coffee and something to fill this hole that I call my stomach before we start on the heart-to-hearts."

Sam lifted a brow. _How did Dean do that?_ "Sure, yeah, okay."

"No argument? I'm impressed, Sammy." Dean glanced over to the passenger seat at his brother and winked before looking back out to the road again.

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched with amusement as he shook his head. He didn't bother correcting Dean for the use of his childhood nickname.

* * *

They followed 78W onto 81S and took it right into Harrisburg where Dean exited the highway and located what looked to be their type of 'Mom & Pop' diner. He pulled the Impala into the far end of the parking lot and turned the car off.

It was nearing lunchtime and the place was already bustling with a flurry of activity when they entered the establishment. Dean automatically found a booth near the rear of the building and headed straight to it, peeling out of his jacket and tossing it down beside him as he slid into the cushioned seat, minding his sore ribs.

The brothers didn't bother with menus when the waitress came around to fill their coffees. Instead, Dean graced her with his most pleasant smile, told her they were in a hurry, and placed two orders for the 'Special of the Day': eggs (one sunny side-up for Dean; one scrambled for Sam), home fries, toast, and orange juice.

They made quick work of their meal and didn't bother with the small talk. Things other than who used the last of the toothpaste or how Dean kept leaving certain websites up on Sam's laptop needed to be discussed and couldn't be brought up in a public place like this; there were too many ears.

Dean was scooping up the last of his eggs with his toast when he happened to glance out the window. He thought he may have seen a familiar blank face, but he blinked and it was gone. It could've been _him_ or it might not have been; there was no way to know for certain. He picked up his mug and knocked back the last dregs of his coffee, washing down the sour taste of fear that was suddenly at the back of his throat. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it to the table. "Time to go."

Sam looked up from his mostly finished plate of food. He heard the urgency in Dean's voice and glanced out the window when he saw the man's gaze drift in that direction. There was nothing out there except for a few customers either coming or going. But he knew better. "_Him_?"

Dean nodded. "Pretty sure."

They got up and put their jackets on. Dean paid, leaving a hefty tip since he knew they had rushed their poor waitress and she had managed on taking care of their needs quickly enough without complaint.

Sam might outpace Dean on most days, but he had to pick up his step to keep up with his brother today. Less than five minutes later, they were back on the highway heading west again.

"Any idea on where we're going?"

"I was thinking Jim's place."

"Pastor Jim?"

"Yeah, seems like a safe place to go. Unless you got any other ideas…"

Sam gave it some thought. Two other people besides their father came to mind: Caleb and Bobby. But really, this was more Dean's area of expertise. Sam hadn't seen any of these people in years.

"No, Jim sounds good. Have you called him? Does he know we're coming?"

"Not yet. Couldn't." Dean reached into his coat pocket then and tossed his phone to Sam. "Would've been a little hard to do with that. – We'll have to stop and pick up a new one at some point."

Sam looked down at Dean's phone in his hand. It hadn't survived his brother's encounter with the man in the suit. The screen was shattered and it looked like it had been run over by a car. "Fuck, Dean." His fingers tightened around the small device knowing what kind of pressure it would take to do that. Just the thought of Dean being crushed like that made him sick to his stomach.

Dean knew what Sam was thinking. "Sam, don't. I'm okay, okay?" He flashed a reassuring smile at his brother.

"I know. I just wish I could've done something."

* * *

They had a sixteen plus hour drive ahead of them and if there was a time for their question and answer session, it was now. So far, Sam had kept a respectful silence which Dean was appreciative of considering how impatient the kid usually was. It took the elder Winchester a while to build up enough resolve to start, even if he was only planning on delivering the watered down version. Hopefully, Sam wouldn't spot the holes in his story too quickly.

"So," Dean glanced at Sam before looking back to the road ahead of them, "I'm sure you have a few questions." He heard Sam huff out a small laugh as he shifted in his seat to sit with his back against the door. Dean braced himself for the onslaught.

"That's putting it mildly. – Let's start off with you telling me what this thing is."

That _would _be the most obvious first question. "Sorry. That's the one thing I can't answer because I don't know."

"Shit, Dean." How had Dean lived with this thing for so long and _not _know what it was? "Well, does he at least have a name?"

"Slenderman mostly. But he goes by a few others, too: the Thin Man, the Tall Man, the Operator, the Tree Man, the Pale One..."

"Wow. The dude's got a bit of an identity problem, huh?"

Lifting an eyebrow at that, Dean looked over at Sam. "Maybe just a little." The corner of his lip twitched upward before he turned to the road again. "Shit!"

Before the word was completely out of his mouth, Dean slammed his foot down on the brakes and locked them up causing Sam to fly forward from his sideways position on the seat and slam into the dash pretty damn hard. He heard his brother cry out when he threw his arm out to catch himself and his already bruised wrist and forearm took the brunt of the impact. Dean cursed as he tried to keep his 4,000 lb. baby from slamming into the rear end of the little 50 lb. econobox that had come out of nowhere and suddenly checked up; the moron of a driver obviously hadn't bothered to check his blind spot before cutting out into their lane.

Once he got the car under control, Dean looked over at Sam; his eyes darted down to where his brother was holding his right wrist. "Dude, y'okay?" He glanced back at the road, then to his brother again.

Sam drew his gaze up from his arm and saw the worried expression on Dean's face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting to eat the dash is all."

"This is why I take back roads," the older man muttered under his breath. "Highways are where idiots go to commune with all the other idiots." He glared at the driver of the other car as they passed it. He felt like flipping the guy off, but didn't bother. "I think you scored a perfect ten on that one, Sam. You sure you're okay though?"

"Screw you very much, Dean. And I'm fine," Sam insisted. He flexed his fingers and grit his teeth when a sharp pain flared up in his wrist. _Dammit._

Dean continued to watch his brother for as long as he dared to take his eyes from the road. "So if I take you to the shooting range tomorrow, you're gonna be just dandy?" Sam didn't say anything. "Yeah, didn't think so. – You're gonna let me take a look at that later." Sam mumbled something in reply to that, probably some more words insisting on how 'okay' he was. Dean left it alone for now. "So, do you and your perfectly fine wrist have any more questions or are we done for the day?"

Sam shot Dean bitch face number twelve before shifting back in his seat and trying to get comfortable. He attempted to focus on the things he wanted to know instead of the throbbing ache in his wrist. "Alright, so you said he's been stalking you ever since Mom died?"

"Yeah, since Mom…" A slight cough tickled at Dean's throat and he cleared it before continuing. "What else do you wanna know?"

"Well, has it always been like this, you disappearing then reappearing? How'd you manage to keep something like that from Dad? I mean, Dean, you were only four." Sam still couldn't get over that fact.

"No. That shit didn't start until I was something like twelve. But, even then, I think Slendy was just testing the waters; I was only gone for a few minutes at a time, not enough for Dad to ever notice. – And it was easy to keep from Dad. He couldn't see him. I was the only one of us who could."

"Until just recently…"

As soon as the words were said, it was like a switch had been thrown; Dean's whole demeanor changed. Sam watched as emotion flitted over his brother's strong features. The man was warring with something, probably his decision to let Sam in on this whole thing. _Dean and his damn protective, big brother instincts._ That had to be what was going on.

An awkward space of silence filled the car. "Dean?"

Finally, Dean blew out a breath, accepting that there were some blanks he had to fill in. He had, after all, agreed to answer some questions. "Yeah, looks like. Welcome to the club," he mumbled with a heavy layer of sarcasm.

"Yeah, some club. – Anyway, I've been thinking, do you think this, um, Slenderman had something to do with the fires? It seems pretty coincidental."

"No, Sam, I don't." Dean kept his eyes glued to the road. Sam was edging a little too close to questions he didn't want to be answering.

"Should I even ask why you seem so sure about that?"

"I just know, okay."_  
_

"Sure. I'm so glad you're open to answering all of my questions. But okay, I guess I'll have to take your word for it. What I'm still trying to understand is why you didn't go to Dad about this? Or did you? I'm guessing that's," he gestured to Dean's ribs, "not the first time he's hurt you."

"I couldn't."

"Ookaay…"

Dean groaned. This was getting ridiculous. "Look, in the beginning, all Slendy ever did was show up here and there, watching; that's it. I admit, I was a little creeped out by him when I was little. Hell, I even remember a time or two where I'd wake up and think I saw him in the corner of the room, but he'd do his flicker-y thing," Dean waved his right hand in the air in some gesture Sam figured was supposed to represent Slenderman's ability to disappear at will, "and then he was gone before I really knew he was there. I usually passed it off as my wild imagination.

"There was one time when I _did_ try to point him out to Dad, but since he couldn't see him, Dad just told me to shut my mouth and that I shouldn't lie about stuff like that. After that, I just kept it to myself.

"I think I pissed Slendy off by trying to tell Dad about him. 'Cause after that, I started having some pretty intense nightmares."

"How old were you?" Sam still wanted to know why Dean felt he 'couldn't' go to their father about this. – It couldn't only be because of that one instance. This thing had been after him for over twenty years; the man would've surely believed an older Dean if he had gone to him later. Something wasn't adding up. – But now that his brother was talking, Sam wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I don't know, six, seven? It took me a while to figure out that he was causing the damn things. _He_ was getting into my head, probably had been for a while, I'm sure. Around the time I turned eight, stuff got worse. The shit he started putting up here?" Dean tapped his index finger against his temple. "Images of people dying, Sam. Scared me half to death the first time I saw you."

One of Sam's eyebrows disappeared up under his bangs. "He showed you me dying?"

The muscle along Dean's jaw ticked. "Yeah. It wasn't pretty either. Let's just say Slendy doesn't spare the gruesome details."

"Did you ever try talking to Dad again after that one time? He should've known by then that you wouldn't lie about something like that."

"No."

_Okay, then._ Sam carded long fingers through his hair. He was trying to picture a young Dean carrying this weight on his shoulders all on his own. It made him sick to think of it.

"What happened last night?" Sam asked after a few minutes. He was almost afraid to know. "I know that wasn't you doing that stuff."

"Yeah…that." Dean let out an exasperated sigh. "Mind control. It ranges from minor suggestive shit to me being his marionette with him pulling the damn strings."

_Shit. How the hell had Dean managed to deal with this for so long all by himself? _"How often has he done that?"

"A couple of times." Dean didn't elaborate.

Sam saw something flicker over his brother's profile then. Shame? Regret? Guilt? What else had this Slenderman made his brother do? Had _it_ made Dean hurt other people?

The older man kept his eyes focused on the highway ahead of them. He really didn't want to follow this line of questioning, but he could feel Sam watching him, waiting; Dean adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and concentrated on the road for another handful of miles. He let them pass by in silence.

Sam looked down at his wrist; it felt warm and the ache was still there. He risked pulling his cuff up a little and winced at the swelling. _Fuck._ He drew the sleeve back down. Dean was gonna be all over him later about it. Sam was really starting to worry that something might have finally given in there.

He was still trying to make heads or tails out of why Dean hadn't gone to their father. As Sam was sifting through what Dean had already told him and what he knew about his brother, something occurred to him. "Dean, did he threaten you or something so you wouldn't go to Dad?"

Dean didn't answer right away. Sam studied him from across the seat, watched the man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His brother shifted in the seat, causing the leather to softly protest under his weight; Dean looked uncomfortable at the question. Suddenly, Sam thought about what his brother had said last night: _"Because I'm trying to keep him from getting to you."_ It made so much sense now.

"Fuck, Dean. Did he threaten to do something to _me_? Is that why you never said anything, why you didn't tell Dad…or me?"

Dean's jaw clenched when those words fell from Sam's mouth. "You're safe from him, Sam. He can't get to you."

Sam's brow furrowed. _Why would he be any different than Dean?_ "Care to explain how you know that?"

"Because he said so. Maybe that big brain of yours is too much for him to handle."

Sam ignored Dean's quip and pressed on. "But he can use you to get to me…like last night."

It took a minute, but Dean nodded solemnly; he kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "What happened last night, it's not the first time he's used me as his 'puppet' to get to you. Do you remember the night before your thirteenth birthday?"

"Something happened and Dad had Bobby come get me. I don't remember much about it. All I know is I didn't see you and Dad for a while after that. Bobby had said you and Dad were off on some big hunt. – Shit, Dean, Slenderman had something to do with that?"

"I didn't figure it all out until long after it happened. – I hadn't seen Slendy in close to a year and I thought he might've been gone for good. I was thinking about telling Dad everything." Dean kept his eyes locked on the road as he began to recount that night. "I found out the hard way that he wasn't on a permanent vacation. Maybe he was off stalking others – I don't know – but somehow he knew what I was gonna do and he came back. That night…" The older hunter trailed off, hating the memory of it, of what his father had said he had walked in on. Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. "Sam, that night I almost killed you. If Dad hadn't gotten back when he did…" That was as far as he would go.

Silence enveloped the interior of the car as Dean's words fell heavily between them. All that could be heard was the steady rumble of the Impala's engine and the familiar creaks of the vehicle as it rolled down the highway.

_Wow._ That was a lot to take in. Sam stared out the window ahead of him; he noticed some dark clouds moving in on the horizon. _Perfect weather for this conversation._ His thoughts drifted to everything that had been happening recently: Dean's disappearances, last night... Why was Slenderman here now? When was the last time Dean had seen _him_? Sam's pile of questions seemed to be growing, not shrinking.

"It wasn't you," Sam said, breaking the quietude. "Dean, you _do_ understand it was _him_, right? You would never hurt me." Dean didn't answer. "Dean?" The younger brother pulled away from the door and slid closer to Dean. He placed a calming hand on the man's arm.

"Yeah," Dean finally said, not sounding too convincing.

That was the best Sam was going to get and he knew it. He dropped his hand to his lap and watched his brother as Dean gnawed on his lower lip. Sam decided to change the subject for now.

"He said something to me last night…while he was, um, 'using' you."

That had Dean snapping his attention over to Sam. His brother hadn't said anything about that. "What, Sam? What did he say to you?"

"Something about the 'game is just beginning'. What'd he mean by that?"

_Fuck. _Dean, by no means, was going to tell Sam what Slenderman had told him while he had him in his clutches. He'd get this taken care of before Slendy got to Sam. "He's just screwing with your head. That's what he does. He tries to break you down, drive you crazy until you can't handle it anymore. Don't worry about it, Sam. He's not gonna have enough time to get that far. Plus you're immune, remember?"

"Yeah, that makes me feel so much better." Sam scooted back to his side of the car. "So if we're gonna take this thing out," he could almost see the relief spread over Dean's entire body at the new direction of their conversation, "you need to tell me everything it can do and what its weaknesses are." He leaned down, unzipped his laptop bag, and pulled out a pen and a notepad. "We'll treat this like any other job: gather the facts and take this piece of shit out."

_If only it would be that easy._

But Dean knew better than that. This was probably going to be one of the hardest jobs in their career. He wasn't even sure they could survive it.

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

**Author's Note: **A quick thanks to Riathe Mai for adding to the 'pack mule' banter. *hugs* Oh, and her undying patience, too :)


	5. Chapter 5

***CHAPTER 5***

* * *

When it came to the impersonal stuff, the elder Winchester had had a lot to say. And most of it was pretty damn detailed; Sam had accumulated several pages of notes by the time his brother's well of information had started to run dry. (And his wrist was paying the price; the further down the page, the more his writing looked like chicken scratch.) Dean might not know _what_ it was, but he knew this creature, and he knew it well.

Sam wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Dean had encountered Slenderman _a lot_. And from what Sam could gather, the threat to his brother's well-being escalated with every meeting; he had read between the lines and had come to that conclusion on his own. The tension that tightened Dean's features and the set of his shoulders revealed more than his words ever would.

Sam sat there quietly flipping through his notebook, reading over everything Dean had told him. He was curious as to why he himself was supposedly immune to Slenderman and Dean wasn't. Even Dean, with all his knowledge on the thing, had no idea what that was all about, or so he claimed – Sam would have to figure it out later – but what really disturbed him was that his brother had such an intimate relationship with the being, that he'd dealt with this creature alone for practically his entire life.

He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw (he'd forgotten to shave this morning with how fast Dean had gotten them out the door) and stared hard at his written words; his lips compressed into a thin line as he tried to suppress the storm of emotions surging through him. Sam was angry; angry at himself for not ever noticing that something was going on – even if Dean was a sneaky bastard more often than not – and angry at Dean for never telling anyone about this. – He could have been killed, the damn idiot. – Their dad was more than capable of taking just about anything down; Sam was sure he could've dealt with Slenderman before the creature could have harmed any one of them. And then Sam was more than a little saddened. Dean had barely had a childhood as it was, and to be running in fear from this thing like he'd had to was just more than any kid should have to bear all on his own, even Dean.

"Is there a way to kill it?" Sam asked after a while. It was the only thing Dean hadn't touched on.

"Dammit, Sam," his brother looked over at him, green eyes hard and inscrutable, "Don't you think if I knew how to kill it, it'd be dead by now?"

Dean had a point. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Sam let out a sigh. He was tired; his brain was on overload. And there was still so much more he wanted to know, things more personal than the basic facts of what Slenderman could and couldn't do. He just didn't know how to approach his brother.

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam tucked the notepad and pen back into his bag and sat back in his seat. "There's just so much more I want to know."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, when was the last time you saw this thing…before Fullerton?"

"Does it matter?" Dean replied without taking his eyes from the road.

Sam twisted around in the seat and flashed an angry glare at Dean. _Of course it mattered. _He was so sick and tired of his brother keeping shit from him. "Seriously? Can't you give me a break here? It's so fucking obvious that you're keeping stuff from me. I get it to some degree – I do – but Dean, _you_ asked _me_ for help, remember?"

Dean finally pulled his gaze from the never ending stretch of asphalt head of them and glanced over at Sam briefly. He wet his lips and turned his attention back to the highway before he spoke, voice tight. "It was our last night in Nyack."

Sam sat forward in his seat when it clicked. "He came after you the night I left? Dean…"

"Now don't do that, Sam," Dean interrupted his brother before he could get started on the guilt parade. "Even if you were there, there was nothing you could've done about it. It's long done and over with, in the past."

If things had escalated in the way Sam had assumed they had, that last visit couldn't have been pretty. And he didn't miss the tension that was seeping back into Dean's whole posture now that the subject was back in front of them. "What happened?" Sam let his gaze sweep down to where he knew Dean's broken ribs were bound tightly under several layers of clothing, then back up to his profile.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Don't worry about it."

"Dean-"

"Not happenin', Sam, so just…don't." Dean's tone was curt and dismissive. There was something else there as well, but Sam couldn't quite pick up on what it was.

He let out a resigned sigh and shook his head. His brother had just closed the door on him; the discussion was over, done. Sam sat back in his seat and rolled his forehead to the cool glass of the window; it felt good against the headache he felt coming on.

* * *

Dean reached over and flicked the radio on, keeping the volume low; it was just enough for some background noise. He spun the dial until something resembling rock came on and then settled back into the seat, legs sprawled out comfortably under the steering wheel.

Outside, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds a while back and the steady drone of a cold rain was now beating down on the exterior of the Impala. Sam shifted and wrapped his jacket around himself a little tighter as he watched the hypnotic motion of the windshield wipers sweeping back and forth. Dean hadn't said anything since he'd shut down.

Sam knew the man had left out a lot of the things that Slenderman had done to him – the man had only skirted across the surface of the physical injuries he'd received – but Sam was more than capable of using his imagination and he did what he could to force down the icy bite of fear that was gnawing at him.

A sudden cough from Dean broke him away from his thoughts and Sam regarded his brother with a curious glance; the man was wiping over his mouth with the back of his hand. "What's up with the cough? You gettin' sick?"

Dean hadn't really noticed it before, but now that he was being asked about it, he found that he really was starting to feel a little under the weather. He had been blaming the exhaustion he was feeling on the lack of sleep last night, but there was a deep ache settling into his bones, too. Nausea had made a short appearance after breakfast as well, but it had eventually gone away. "Don't know. Might be a bug or something. I'm not too worried about it."

_That's all we need right now,_ Sam thought to himself."You want me to take over for a while so you can get some rest? I don't mind."

"Nah, I got it for now. We'll break for a late lunch/early dinner in a couple of hours. We can switch out then. – Hey, why don't you make that call to Jim. If he's not around or can't take us in for a couple of days while we figure this thing out, we still have time to work our way over to Sioux Falls. I'm sure Bobby wouldn't mind having us."

"Isn't Bobby mad at us or something?" Sam remembered the last time they were at the man's house. Their father had been arguing loudly with the older hunter while he forced his two teenaged sons into the car at a hurried pace. Sam vaguely remembered a shotgun being pointed at the eldest Winchester.

"He and Dad had a little disagreement. You know how Dad is. He'd butt heads with a damn bull if he thought he was right about something." Dean flashed a grin at that. "Nope, Bobby likes us; he's just not so hot about Dad is all."

Sam smiled remembering what his father was like. "Yeah, he's definitely stubborn." He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket then and brought up his contact list. Scrolling down to a long unused number, he dialed.

* * *

Sam hung up the phone after a lengthy conversation. Pastor Jim was glad to hear from him and, of course, inquired about Stanford which meant the whole thing with Jess' death had gotten brought up. The man gave Sam his condolences and told him that they were more than welcome to come out to his place. He was actually on his way home from performing an exorcism in Iowa and would be back later this evening.

"He's good with everything. I told him we'd be there tomorrow afternoon some time," Sam said as he tucked his phone back into his pocket and then turned to look out the side window without saying anything else.

Dean immediately picked up on Sam's change of mood; his brother's voice had gotten a little more subdued since Jess' name had been mentioned in his conversation with Jim. He should have known the man would question Sam about school and why he was on the road again as opposed to being in Palo Alto working on his senior year.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I should have made that call. I wasn't thinking."

Sam slouched further down into the seat, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he did. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. "It's alright. I would've had to explain things sooner or later," he said with a hint of resignation in his voice.

Dean let out a weary sigh and concentrated on the road ahead of them.

* * *

They stopped just south of Youngstown, Ohio.

Dean found a small diner where they could grab a bite to eat and eased the Impala into a space at the back of the parking lot. When Sam made to get out of the car, Dean grabbed the back of his coat and stopped him from going anywhere.

"Dude, where do you think you're going?"

His brother turned back to him, face scrunched up in confusion. "To eat. Isn't that why we're here?"

"Food can wait. You're gonna let me see that wrist first."

"Dean, no. It's-"

"If it's so 'fine', you won't mind me looking at it."

Sam tossed Dean a heated glare, but gave in. His jacket had to come off and he couldn't suppress the hiss of pain as he pulled his right arm out of the sleeve.

"Yeah, sounding real good there, Sammy."

"Fuck off." Sam mumbled as he worked to get the rest of the way out of his jacket. When he'd divested himself of the garment, he held his arm out to Dean for inspection.

Dean could see the bruising peeking out from under the frayed cuff of Sam's hoodie. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he reached over and carefully pulled the sleeve back. Guilt immediately washed over him when he saw what was revealed.

Sam's wrist was swollen and covered in varying shades of pinks, reds, purples, and blues; it looked a hell of a lot worse than it had when Dean had last seen it early that morning. He knew this wasn't just from Sam's earlier collision with the dash; that had only helped make what was already there worse. No, this was because of him; he did this.

"Dammit, Sam," Dean growled. He looked up and met a surprisingly sheepish expression on his brother's face.

Sam lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "Looks worse than it is?" he said somewhat meekly.

"And, you know, I've heard there's such things as angels, too," the older hunter replied, his words laced with sarcasm. "You gotta tell me when shit's this bad."

"Oh, and you do?" Sam snapped back with more than a little bite.

_That was sort of deserved_, Dean thought to himself, but he didn't bother replying as he turned Sam's hand over with a gentleness that only his brother was privy to, calloused fingers trailing lightly over the rainbow of colors. "This is gonna hurt. – You ready?" His moss-green eyes lifted up to look at his brother and he received a quiet nod.

Dean began to steadily press his fingers into Sam's bruised flesh. He quickly, but efficiently, searched for anything that felt like it may have been broken or out of place, and then he maneuvered the joint through its full range of motion. Dean got a whimper in response to that and quickly stopped. When he did, his brother let out the breath he'd been holding.

Sam looked up then, glassy eyes betraying the amount of pain he was in. "Well?" he croaked out and then cleared his throat.

"I don't think it's broken. But you've got some pretty good deep tissue bruising going on, maybe a slight sprain, too. A tight wrap and some ice later should help. You're just gonna have to take it easy for a while." A playful smirk lit up his face then and he waggled an eyebrow. "That means no-"

Sam grimaced and shoved his brother away with his good hand. "Dude, that's just… You're sick. You know that? When are you ever gonna grow up?"

"You love me. Admit it," Dean said with a chuckle as he climbed out of the car and hurried through the downpour to retrieve the first aid supplies from the trunk.

Ten minutes later, Dean had Sam's wrist wrapped almost as well as any doctor could have done and they finally went to get something to eat. By then, both of their stomachs were protesting the wait for food.

* * *

So far, Dean hadn't seen hide nor hair of Slenderman (not that the thing had any hair), but it didn't keep him from being overly cautious, almost to the extent of being paranoid. It was starting to rub off on Sam, too. Anyone paying too much attention to the two handsome, young men sitting in the rear, corner booth would think they had something to hide.

"So, I think we'll get to Elkhart and crash there for the night. You okay with that?" Dean took another bite out of his bacon cheeseburger and chewed as he waited for his brother to respond; Sam would be driving that leg of the trip.

Sam picked at his salad and popped a crouton into his mouth. Now that he had something to eat, he found that he didn't have much of an appetite. "That'll get us like halfway there, right?"

Dean swallowed his food and took a sip of his soda. "Something like that." His nose began to tickle and he pulled a napkin from its holder to wipe at it. It came back with a spot of blood on it. "Son of a bitch," he growled.

"What?" Sam looked up from his dish, brow furrowed in question. And then his eyes fell to the bright, red splotch on the paper napkin. "Dean?"

Dean grabbed a fresh napkin and pinched his nose, tilting his head back. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it," he said, voice nasally.

Sam pushed a cherry tomato aside and stabbed at a few leaves of romaine lettuce with his fork; he remained quiet as he continued to eat, trying to act like he wasn't paying any attention to what was going on across the table. His brother hardly ever got bloody noses unless he had gotten a fist – or a boot, forehead, floor, wall…the list could go on and on – in the face first. The younger hunter kept his eyes turned down to the notepad he'd brought in with him, skimming over the notes he'd taken earlier.

Slenderman sounded like he was basically out of their league…or as Dean would say, 'a little above their pay grade'. The things it could do were so beyond what they'd ever dealt with before. And Dean's description of the creature made it sound like an entirely different entity from the one Sam had been seeing for the last couple of months. Dean's was a vicious and deadly predator; Sam's was a silent (and relatively harmless) watcher.

_Why is it so much worse with Dean?_

Sam wanted to drill his brother about what had happened the night he left for Stanford. The few puzzle pieces Sam had put together told him the encounter was more than likely anything but amicable; it should have been outright dangerous. With the way Dean had cut their earlier conversation off so abruptly, Sam wasn't sure his brother would ever tell him what had happened. And if it had gone to the extent Sam guessed it should have, how did their father not know what was going on?

His eyes drifted back up to the older man who was now wiping his nose off; another small cough erupted from Dean as he did so. It was then that Sam noticed his brother's eyes were red like he'd been rubbing them too much or something and his skin seemed a little paler than it usually was. (Dean had always been the fairer of the two brothers.)

"You're not looking so good. You sure you wanna sit in the car for another four hours?"

"What, a man gets a bloody nose and you think he's dying?" Dean smirked. "It's either allergies or the damn weather change. I'm fine. Stow away the mother hen, dude." He took another bite of his burger and ignored the scowl his brother was giving him from across the table.

_Or something else_, Sam thought darkly. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about whether or not there were any physical side-effects from Slenderman being around – maybe he honestly didn't know – but Sam would bet his life on it that Dean's apparent 'illness' had something to do with the creature.

* * *

Four and a half hours later, Sam pulled up outside a small motel just off the highway. Its neon sign was startlingly garish in the dreary evening and reflected off the hood of the car in vibrant streaks of green and blue. The rain hadn't let up yet; as a matter of fact, it had gotten worse the further west they went – it was borderline freezing rain now – making the driving all that much more fun.

He looked over to where Dean was softly snoring. Small circles of condensation formed on the passenger window with his every exhale before they shrunk and then bloomed again with the next breath. Every now and then a cough would sneak up on the older man, but then he'd settle back down to sleep.

Dean needed the rest, so Sam left him to it as he opened the door to get out. He pulled his jacket up over his head as he tried to close the door as quietly as he could (which was almost impossible what with the way the doors creaked and groaned with every opening and closing) before taking quick, ground-eating strides into the motel's front office.

* * *

_Dean was walking through a forest – Why couldn't Slenderman change the scenery once in a while? – and it appeared to be some time late in the middle of the night. He looked around, taking in his current surroundings. A thick mist covered the ground at his feet like a dense, London fog. There was no sound except for the fall of his booted footsteps crunching through the stale autumn leaves which carpeted the forest floor._

_The hairs on the back of Dean's neck prickled and a chilled sense of foreboding rippled across his shoulder blades causing him to shiver. He knew the creature was out there; he just didn't know where. The worst part about all of this was that Dean didn't know if this was reality or a dream. He couldn't remember how he'd even gotten here…wherever here was._

He_ could be hiding anywhere; the Thin Man was a master at disappearing into the proverbial woodwork. Dean eyed the tall, slender trees surrounding him. For all he knew, ol' Slendy was one of them, those freakishly long limbs of his imitating the spindly, naked branches stretched out above._

_"Where are you, you fuckin' skinny bastard?" he growled as he continued to move forward into the pitch of night._

_Without even reaching for it, Dean knew he was unarmed; the heavy and familiar weight of his Colt was absent from the small of his back…not that he thought it would do any good against his foe…although it would have made him feel much better to have the gun in his hand._

_"Dean?" Sam's voice suddenly cut through the silence like a shard of glass._

_"Sammy?" the word fell from Dean's lips quietly. _Oh, god, I hope this is just a dream_. "Sam?"_

_"Dean, help me…please." His brother's voice was broken, pleading…pained._

_The sound came from behind Dean and he spun on his heel. "Sammy?" The heavy curtain of darkness surrounding him seemed to absorb the name as he called out to his brother._

_Dean increased his pace, began to run towards where he thought his brother was. He ran recklessly through the tangle of tree branches, unable to see where he was going; they snagged at his jacket and scratched at his face and hands. "Where are you, little brother?" _

_He stopped, chest heaving as it tried to bring in deep gulps of oxygen; the strong scent of pine needles and decaying leaves filled his nose, waking up sense memories and reminding him of better days, days when he and Sam were younger and were allowed to act like kids._

_"Dean… He's here." Dean swiveled to his left, reveries forgotten. His brother was closer now._

_"Keep talking, Sammy. I can't find you if I can't hear you."_

_"Please." A sob cut into the word. It was followed by a shrill scream that echoed out into the forest; Sam's scream._

_"Goddammit!" Dean took off in the direction of his brother's agonized screech; his heart was pounding behind his eardrums. And then he tripped over something solid and landed hard on the ground, skidding into the coarse and unforgiving dirt. Pain flared up on the palms of his hands as sharp rocks dug into them and Dean grunted. He quickly rolled over and then crawled blindly on hands and knees towards whatever it was that he had stumbled over._

_And then he found it…_

_Short, ragged breaths caused the warm body under his searching hands to shudder. His fingers slipped through a hot, sticky mess of blood-soaked cotton as he searched for the face he knew all too well. "Sammy? Oh, god, Sam."_

_"Dean." Sam coughed wetly under Dean's touch._

_"I'm here." Dean's thumb slid through the slick of blood on the younger man's cheek as he spoke, trying to keep his voice steady. "Tell me what you need, little brother. What'd he do to you?"_

_"It hurts, Dean. Make it go away." The younger man's words were feeble and weak. His voice was growing softer by the second as his life blood pumped out of the many wounds covering his injured body._

_"Sammy, you hang in there. We'll find a way out of this." Dean looked around them, desperate. But there was nothing, no possible way he could fix this situation. – He prayed this wasn't real. – His attention was drawn back down to his dying brother when a hand came up and clutched weakly at his._

_"Don't leave me, Dean." Sam's breath hitched then and he cried out, "D-Dean, h-he's b-back." Another sob escaped from his lips as he fought to breathe through the pool of blood collecting in his throat._

_Dean looked up and his eyes widened when he saw the pale visage peering down at them._

* * *

Sam pulled the car around and brought it to a stop in front of their room for the night. Dean was starting to wake up; the younger brother could hear soft mumbles coming from the man. After he shifted the car into park and pulled the keys from the ignition, Sam reached over and shook Dean by the shoulder.

"Dean, we're here."

There was no response. Under the luminous glow of the parking lot light above the car, Sam could see Dean's features were twisted with what appeared to be distress; his eyelashes were wet with unshed tears.

"Oh, shit," he said as the realization of what was going on hit him. "Dean, wake up!" Sam redoubled his efforts in waking up his brother when he didn't respond. "Dean!"

The older hunter started to fight Sam, hands flying up and grasping at him. "Get offa him, you son of a bitch!" he snarled. His breath was heavy and perspiration was beginning to break out on his forehead.

"Dean, it's me. Wake up! You're dreaming!" Sam fought to get Dean under control before one or both of them got hurt. Even asleep, his brother was hard to hold down, but then Sam was handicapped as well, only really being able to use his left hand.

Finally, Dean's efforts started to ease up under Sam and the man's eyes slowly blinked open. "Sammy?"

Sam moved back some, giving his brother a little space. "You were having another nightmare. I think _he_ got to you again."

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

Sam watched Dean as the man stared down at his trembling hands, like he was seeing something that wasn't there. "That bad, huh?"

Dean cursed again before grabbing at the door handle and wrenching the door open. He climbed out of the car before Sam could say anything more. But the younger Winchester was right on his heels, jumping out of the driver's side door and following him.

"Dean, c'mon, talk to me, man," he pleaded. "I thought we were doing this together." Dean didn't answer. Instead, he pulled his wallet out and started fishing through it for something with shaking hands. "Dean…" Sam had now rounded the front end of the car and was closing in on his brother. He saw what Dean was doing and shook his head.

As he approached his brother, Sam reached out to hand the man his key card, the one he hadn't given him yet, the one Dean was looking for in his wallet. The older hunter reacted – apparently, Sam had gotten too close, too soon – and Dean spun around on him, roughly shoving him back a step.

"Back off, Sam." When Dean noticed the card in Sam's hand, he looked up at his brother. Something in his expression changed then; he looked worn out…defeated almost. But the flare of vehemence was still in his voice when he spoke up again; it didn't seem directed at Sam though. "You really wanna know what _he _did this time, and – _fuck_ – how about every other time while we're at it? Might as well get it all out now while I'm talking, right?" The initial heat of his words was starting to wear off as he continued. "He forced me to…" Dean cleared his throat to cover the waver in his voice, but his burning green eyes were still overbright with emotion, betraying the anguish that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide from his too observant little brother. "…to watch you die…_again_. That's what I dream about, you dying…over and over. He knows you're my weakness, always has. That's how he gets to me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" The older man stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and glared at Sam.

Sam saw right through Dean's guise of impassioned fury. His brother had been rattled by his most recent dream; it was all right there in his eyes, the open windows to his soul. Dean couldn't hide from Sam, no matter how hard he tried.

The younger brother reached down and took one of Dean's trembling hands into his own then; he clenched his jaw with stubborn determination and held tight when the man tried to pull away. Sam brought it up to rest over the strong and steady beat of his heart. "I'm right here, Dean. Feel that?" Dean calmed down after a brief struggle, giving in, and then nodded. "I'm right here in front of you, safe and alive." Sam released the man's hand when he was sure his brother understood that.

It took a moment longer before Dean clenched his fingers and pulled his hand back to himself.

* * *

While Sam took care of unpacking the car and warding the room, Dean lost himself in a hot shower. It was all he could think of doing to de-stress after his most recent nightmare. – Slendy was working his magic on him and Dean was pissed that he'd gotten as shaken up as he had; he was also less than pleased that he'd lost it in front of his brother the way he had. – As he turned off the spray of water and stepped out onto the cold tile, he thought about his decision to let Sam in on this 'job'.

His brother didn't have the slightest clue what this creature was capable of. Granted, Dean himself was to blame for most of that; he just couldn't tell Sam everything. Like he'd told the younger man earlier, they'd take care of the Thin Man before things got out of control; Dean would make sure of that…no matter what he had to do. He'd just have to pray like hell that Slendy didn't get his hands on Sam before then…do to his brother what he'd done to Dean that last time three years ago, and could potentially do again.

One thing they had going for them was that Slenderman couldn't get into Sam's head by his own admission; he couldn't draw Sam in with any type of mind control. But that didn't mean he couldn't just show up whenever and take the younger Winchester by force as was his usual modus operandi. All Slendy needed was for Sam to get close enough.

But Sam knew better than to get too damn close to something like Slendy.

Dean wiped the steam from the mirror with a hand towel and stared at himself. He looked like shit; he had dark circles under his eyes and they were also bloodshot. (It looked like he'd had a hard night out on the town and was paying for it…which is what he'd much rather have had happened; it would have been a hell of a lot more fun.) And, yeah, he _did _look a little too pale.

He really hoped he wasn't coming down with something.

* * *

"How're you holdin' up?" Sam asked as he made the final pass over Dean's chest with fresh bandages. He was really kind of surprised that his brother was still allowing him to do this. The man must've been hurting more than he was letting on, but then again, broken ribs always hurt like a bitch; Sam had had his share a time or two.

"Sore, but I'll live. – You?"

Sam glanced down at his wrapped wrist. He hadn't iced it like he probably should have, but it felt like the swelling had gone down some over the last few hours. "Better."

"Good." Dean took a sip from his beer and then rested it on his thigh; he let his thumb trace a circle over the lip of the bottle. "You should probably get some sleep. We got another long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

Sam could see Dean's earlier nightmare was still weighing heavily on him; he probably wasn't going to be too sociable for the rest of the evening because of it. And, honestly, the younger hunter was okay with that. (He'd needed time for himself after Jess and Dean had been kind enough to give it to him. Fair was fair.) The problem was, he wasn't exactly tired.

"I think I'm gonna start sorting through my notes and check a few things out on the computer before packing it in." They needed a game plan before _he_ showed up again.

"Whatever you need to do, Sam," Dean drawled out tiredly.

After Sam fastened the last clip on the bandage, he gave Dean a soft pat on the back of his shoulder. "All set."

Dean grumbled a 'thanks' before getting up and tugging on a shirt. He set his empty bottle on the nightstand before walking over to his duffel bag which was still on the floor by the door. He squatted down and began to rummage through it for something. After a minute of not finding whatever it was, Dean called out to Sam, "Hey, have you seen Dad's journal?" He looked back at Sam.

The younger man glanced up at Dean from where he was booting up the computer. "Oh, crap. Yeah, it's in my bag. When you went missing last night, I had it out." Sam pushed his chair back and went to get the book from his duffel. "I was looking to see if Dad-"

"You won't find anything."

Dean had made sure of that, tore those couple of pages right out of their dad's journal even before he'd gone to Stanford to get Sam. His brother didn't need to know what had happened three years ago, the things their father had been a witness to, the things he'd figured out all on his own without any of Dean's input.

Sam pulled the journal out of his bag and smoothed his fingers over the well-worn leather cover of the book for a moment before tossing it to Dean. "Yeah, well, I didn't know that last night, did I?" He couldn't help it. A small flame of anger still licked at his insides. For all the experience Dean had with hunting supernatural shit, he should have known better than to have tried to keep something like this to himself.

* * *

"You're right about one thing; there isn't much out there at all. But I think I figured out why it started following you after Mom died," Sam said, breaking the silence that had settled over the room for the past couple of hours. He sat back in his chair, arching his back until a couple of vertebrae popped and then stretched his arms up over his head, causing his shirt to ride up giving a glimpse of tanned skin.

Dean looked up from where he was browsing their father's journal on his bed. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, and he was propped up on a couple of pillows. "Yeah?" He closed the book, set it on the nightstand, and then picked up the mostly empty beer which was next to it; the condensation from the bottle left a white ring on the table. He drained the last of it before pushing his brother on, "Well, don't keep me in suspense, Alfred. Why?"

One of Sam's classic bitch faces showed up for a second before he started to explain his findings. "He stalks people who've had some kind of terrible tragedy in their life. I guess Mom's death would fall under that category. That must be why I've been seeing him around, too…with everything that happened with Jess."

Dean didn't seem surprised to hear what Sam had found. "You didn't happen to get lucky and find out how to make him go away, did you?"

Sam picked up on the bit of wry sarcasm. He gave a weak smile. "Sorry. You'll be the first to know if I do though."

"Well, get movin' on it geekboy. See if you can find something I haven't after twenty-two years." Dean pushed up out of bed and went to the refrigerator to grab another beer. He was glad this place had a kitchenette. Warm beer sucked ass, even in December. "You want one?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam reached a hand back up over his shoulder and closed his fingers around the cold bottle when he felt Dean place it in his hand; he saw that his brother had already popped the cap off for him. Sam took a long pull from it and then turned in his seat to face the kitchenette where the older man was leaning up against the counter.

Dean looked like he was back to his normal self. The effects of the nightmare seemed to have diminished for the most part. That was one thing about his brother; he always had this way of bouncing back, no matter what happened.

Sam knew he was poking a hornet's nest with a stick, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. "You ever gonna tell me what happened…the night I left?"

* * *

_…August 28, 2002…_

They were back at the safe house in Nyack, New York after finally locating the mysterious John Dee. And now Dean's world was being turned upside down…

Sam had just stormed out the front door after confronting their father about the same old bullshit. Sam had threatened to leave…again…this time for Stanford; the kid had a full ride. John Winchester's final words still rang deafeningly in Dean's head. "You walk out that door, don't bother coming back!" They were so final.

"Sam, wait!" Dean ran out the door after his brother – it slammed shut with a loud _bang_ behind him – and he grabbed Sam by the sleeve, hauling the younger man to a stop.

Sam spun around on him. Dean was expecting some version of emo-Sam, was expecting tears, but that wasn't what he saw. He actually stumbled back a step when his brother turned on him. Sam was angry. A cold fury glinted in his eyes; his jaw was clenched tightly; deep lines bracketed his mouth, replacing the soft laugh lines which were normally there.

"Don't try to talk me back, Dean."

"Sam, you just don't understand-"

"I don't- Can't you see how he treats me? – I'm sorry. I'm not you, Dean." Sam hefted his duffel back onto his shoulder from where it had started to slip.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I'm telling you, he _loves_ you."

The younger man's face twisted, full of pain, remorse, sadness. "Everything I do… It turns to crap. I nearly got us killed tonight. – I can't do _anything_ right, no matter how hard I try." A tear leaked from his eye then. "I'm not like you, Dean. I'm not perfect. I'm a screw-up."

"Sam… I'm the screw-up. You just have to have faith. He's doing all of this for you. For us."

Sam wiped angrily at the betraying drop of moisture on his cheek and narrowed his eyes at Dean. "No. He's not. All Dad cares about is _himself._ – Hunting this thing that killed Mom. He's not going to stop until it's dead. It's slow-motion suicide and he's dragging us with him. – I'm not going down, Dean, not with him. And you shouldn't either."

Dean hesitated at Sam's words. If there was some way he could make Sam understand… But he knew there wasn't. Letting out a resigned breath, he looked up at his brother. (When had the kid gotten so freakin' tall?) "I can't leave Dad alone, Sam. He needs me."

Sam huffed out an irritated breath and turned then. "Yeah, you go on thinking that. – Later, Dean." The younger Winchester started walking down the dark road in the direction of the nearest bus station.

Dean stood there watching him. There was nothing he could do. "Later."

* * *

Dean walked back into the house. It was empty. His father was gone. All that was left were the keys to the Impala.

"Fuck!" Dean shouted into the silence. How had he just lost everything in less than an hour? He sagged down into a dusty, old cushioned chair in what was once a living room and closed his eyes.

He must have dozed off. When Dean opened his eyes again, John was sitting at the kitchen table bathed in the soft glow of a lantern.

"Dad? Shit, man, I thought you left." Dean rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, clearing the sleep from them.

"I went for a walk." The lie was so obviously blatant, but Dean didn't bother pointing that out. The eldest Winchester looked up at his son. He looked tired. And, god, he looked like he'd aged ten years. His eyes had lost that hunger. And Dean could have sworn he saw a glimmer of tears there before the man smoothed a hand over his face and scratched at the scruff on his chin. "We're gonna head out in the morning. There's a job in Holland, Michigan. All those damn UFO sightings over the lake. If only that's what they were…"

Dean sat up and pushed out of the chair then. "So we're just gonna leave? What if Sam decides-"

"Dean, Sam's made up his mind. He's gone. It's just you and me now."

Dean knew his father was speaking the truth. Sam was gone for good this time; he felt it in his gut. He spun and threw a fist into the wall in resigned fury as everything sank in. "Goddamned, son of a bitch!" he yelled as he stormed out of the house, kicking the door closed behind him.

He walked down the gravel driveway to the road. For a while, Dean stared off in the direction where Sam had disappeared. He thought about calling the kid. Maybe he could talk him into coming back. Surely there was something he could say…promise.

"Sammy."

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, emotions running the full gamut from 'A' to 'Z'. At some point Dean noticed his face was wet with tears and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket.

Finally, the young hunter gave in. He couldn't stand out there all night. If they were heading out in the morning, Dean needed his sleep. – He knew his father was probably still sitting at the table looking into their next job. The man would let him have it if he was off his game tomorrow due to lack of sleep. – It was clear that Sam wasn't going to come strolling back down the road. By now, he'd probably hitched a ride and was on a bus to the other end of the country. Dean couldn't help but curse his brother for leaving them – _him_ – like this. Dean turned to head back into the house; he had to accept that things were just going to be different now.

He walked slowly, mind elsewhere, eyes lowered to the ground in front of him. They'd come so close to this exact thing happening several times over the last year, but Dean had always been able to stop it, soothe things over, before his brother ran out the door. He'd failed this time. And because of that, Sam was gone.

As his gaze followed the cracked and weed-ridden sidewalk at his feet, Dean stopped when he saw a shiny pair of black, wing-tipped shoes a pace in front of him. The color drained from his face when he looked up and a choked gasp escaped from his throat. The last thing he was expecting to see stood directly in front of him. It had been more than a year, maybe closer to two, since he'd last seen _him_.

_No, no, not tonight. Why tonight?_

A sharp spike of terror stabbed into Dean before he swallowed it down like a bitter pill and reminded himself that he was 'Dean-friggin-Winchester'; he didn't cower from the supernatural, even Slenderman…not anymore. Sam was gone; Sam was _safe_ now. Now he could go after this son of a bitch without worrying about having to protect his brother.

"You know, your shit's gettin' a little old. And can't you see I'm having a bad fucking night here? Why don't you go bug someone else and leave me the hell alone." It was the first time Dean had acted out in defiance towards the creature. He wasn't sure how it would react, but he'd just lost the most important thing in his life and he couldn't find reason enough to give a damn.

Dean surreptitiously reached around to the small of his back and took hold of his Colt; its grip was warm and reassuring under his fingers. As he drew out the weapon, the hunter didn't take his eyes off of _him_; it was the only way Dean knew how to keep Slenderman from moving closer. (He knew he could try to run, but _it _always caught him.) He hoped the creature wouldn't catch on to what he was doing before he could get a few shots off.

Without blinking an eye, Dean pulled his gun and dumped half the clip into the Thin Man. The violent _crack_ of gunshots resounded through the calm summer evening as bullets ripped through the dark fabric of Slendy's suit in quick succession. Dean lowered his gun afterward, smoke still trailing from its barrel; that should have been enough to do the trick. At near on point-blank range, those shots would have killed most things.

Instead of dropping to the ground dead like it should have, Slenderman's bones started to crack and shift under its pallid skin. The eerie sound shattered the sepulchral silence that followed in the wake of the deafening noise of the previous moments. He grew, adding not just inches, but feet, to his stature, making himself even more menacing and Dean instinctively took several steps back.

_Shit, I think I pissed it off._

"Dean! What the fuck are you doing, trying to bring the cops down on us? Where's your damn head?" Dean could hear the sound of his father's work boots clomping down the stairs of the front porch.

_Oh, god. Dad._ He should have known that the eldest Winchester would hear the gunshots and would come running to see what the racket was all about. "No, Dad. Go back inside!" Dean yelled. _Like he'll listen. The man can't see the Jolly Green Giant wannabe towering over me._

And sure enough, his father's heavy footsteps could be heard moving across the unkempt lawn as the man rushed towards him - _them_.

Shit. "Dad, please. Stay away!" John stopped several feet away from Dean and the younger man could feel his father's eyes on him. "Please, Dad," he pleaded. Dean couldn't look, but he sensed when the elder man realized something serious was going on.

"Dean, what…"

The man's words became a white noise in the background. – Dean had known this standoff with Slendy couldn't last long. – There was a downside to staring at the being and he felt it even as he thought it…the slight tug at his mind. Slenderman was getting into his head and Dean knew it was too late; once you felt him, you were already at his mercy.

The hunter could only watch as the Thin Man's arms spread out and reached toward him. The hypnotic pull in his head had Dean stepping forward into that deadly embrace; there was nothing he could do to stop it.

_Today definitely isn't a good day_, Dean thought less than humorously to himself as the serpentine arms folded around him.

The last thing he remembered before they winked out of sight was his father shouting his name.

"Dean!"

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

**Author's Note:** The dialogue for the last flashback dated August, 28, 2002, from the beginning to the first break, was taken from the Supernatural comic book "Beginning's End" written by Andrew Dabb and Daniel Loflin.


	6. Chapter 6

***CHAPTER 6***

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Dean was mid-gulp when the question was posed. He brought the bottle down and stared at the floor as he shuffled his feet. He didn't want to talk about it and it had been a relief when Sam had let the subject go earlier in the car. What had happened that time was between him and Slendy; Sam didn't need to know about it. The nightmares he'd had from it (and still had to this today) where bad enough, but to relive it again through actual words…

"Dean?"

"Sam, I… No. Okay? All you need to know is it wasn't a trip to Disney." Dean raised his bottle and took another swig without saying anything more; he didn't bother sparing a glance at Sam.

Sam's brow lowered a fraction as he studied his brother. Dean had always been secretive of how bad his injuries were; the worse they were, the quieter he was about them…and he wasn't budging on this. It only confirmed his suspicions that that last meeting was anything but good.

He was still surprised that Dean had even told him anything about the dream he'd had earlier. Slenderman was really knocking Dean off his game, but the man, in all his stubbornness, was hanging on. "Yeah, okay," Sam relented, not wanting to push his brother, not now anyway.

The younger Winchester swung back around in his seat and looked at the screen in front of him. He wasn't taking anything in, just staring blankly at it. Ever since the other night, he kept expecting to see the creature in its reflection; Sam almost dared it to show up again. But nothing out of the ordinary happened. Only the Google screen stared back at him, cursor blinking in the search bar.

He sighed heavily, swept his dark hair back from his face, and then began to type.

* * *

Dean suddenly pulled off the highway in some suburb just outside of Chicago. – They'd gotten an early start the next morning wanting to get to Jim's place as soon as possible. – He caught Sam's questioning sidelong look from across the seat.

"Baby's hungry. I gotta take a leak. And I gotta find a cell phone store," he said by way of explanation.

* * *

The car splashed through a puddle as it pulled into a Quik-E-Mart a half hour later; they had stopped and gotten Dean's new phone first. (That was a pretty penny Dean didn't want to talk about.) The older hunter cut the engine and looked at his brother. "I'll take care of things out here. Why don't you go see what kind of sugar you can find." He pushed his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head.

"Anything in particular?"

"Whatever. I'm not picky. Just none of that gummy shit you seem to like. Oh, and no coconut crap or Skittles either."

"Anything you'd like to add to the list, Mr. I'm-Not-Picky?"

Dean grinned. "As a matter of fact-"

"M&M's it is," Sam cut him off with a snicker as he opened the door and unfolded his lanky 6'4" frame from the car.

Dean chuckled as he got out and headed around the side of the building to use the bathroom. When he was done, he went back to the Impala to fill the tank. As Dean waited, he leaned back against the car and proceeded to check out the brunette on the other side of the pump. It had been too long since he'd gotten laid. When this was all over, he was going to tap the first hot chick he could find.

"Dean."

Dean groaned when his lustful thoughts were interrupted by his brother's voice. He looked across the parking lot and the first thing he noticed was the lack of any bags.

"Dude, where's the snacks? Don't tell me they were out of M&M's. That's just not possible."

"_He_'s inside." Sam glanced back over his shoulder to the small brick building.

Dean followed the younger man's gaze. "You mean _him_?"

"No, fucking Santa Claus," Sam replied sarcastically, looking back at the older man. "Who else?"

Dean ignored the snide comment. "Did he do anything?" The pump clicked then, startling both men.

"No. He was just…there. Dude, does he ever move?"

Dean hung the nozzle up and screwed the gas cap back on the car quickly before flipping the license plate back up. "Yeah, he moves…too fast. Let's go."

They got into the car and the tires screeched as Dean floored it back out onto the road. They still had nearly seven hours ahead of them before they reached Blue Earth.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Dean happened to glance out the window; a minivan was passing by on their left. He jumped when he caught sight of Slendy sitting in the passenger seat staring at him. It was a rather odd thing to see and he lifted his eyebrows for second. When he told Sam to look, the younger man didn't see anyone there.

Within minutes of the sighting, Dean started feeling feverish and began to cough uncontrollably. He managed to get to the next exit and pulled the car off to the side of the road.

The cough refused to ease up; it only got worse. Finally, Dean made a choking sound and coughed up a wad of phlegm. He spit it out into a paper napkin and cursed when he saw there was blood in the mix.

"I don't think this is the flu, Dean."

"Really, Sherlock? What clued you in? – God, my fuckin' ribs," he mumbled in between coughs.

The sarcasm was thick and Sam didn't bother answering back as he watched his brother go into another coughing spasm. This time Dean's face turned bright red and he pushed out of the car in a rush. The man just barely got around the front bumper before he hunched over and vomited on the ground. "Crap!" Sam scrambled to get a bottle of water from the back seat and brought it over to the man.

Dean barely had time to wash his mouth out before he retched again and Sam had to jump out of the way before the rest of his brother's breakfast ended up on his shoes.

Sam waited patiently, but Dean continued to gag and spit. He didn't like seeing the dark tinge of crimson dotting the pavement at their feet. "Dean – shit – is there something I can do?"

The older hunter forced himself to stand upright, right arm wrapped around the left side of his ribcage, when he had a moment of respite. A car whipped by behind him a little too closely and his jacket flapped around him from the rush of air. "I'm puking, Sam. I think I can manage this on my own." And then he curled over and heaved some more, spitting more blood out onto the ground at his feet. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Dean took another swig of water and rinsed his mouth out.

Things seemed to subside a few minutes later and Dean stepped around Sam to lean against the front passenger side fender where it was a little safer from the traffic speeding by. Suddenly, Dean hissed out in pain and balled his fists against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut as he did.

"Dean!" Sam just barely caught him before he went down. Carefully, he eased Dean to the ground so he could rest up against the tire. When his brother was safely sitting down, Sam tilted his head and tried to look at the man, but Dean wouldn't look up at him. "Dean? Jesus, are you alright?" He crouched down and put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Don't. Touch. Me." Dean growled and shook away from Sam's touch.

Sam lifted an eyebrow as he stood up and backed away. "Dude, just tryin' to help. No reason to get like that."

"I…don't…need…your…help."

The words came out low and bitter, causing a shiver of warning to creep up Sam's spine. "Dean? Hey, look at me." Something wasn't right.

The older man looked up and glared at Sam.

What Sam saw caused him to stumble back a step. The same dead look he'd seen the other night was in the man's eyes. "Dean?"

A threatening hiss had Sam taking two more steps back. What the fuck was he going to do? They were right on the side of the road in broad daylight.

Apparently Slenderman didn't have a problem with that. Dean bared his teeth with an animalistic rage and launched himself at Sam's midsection. The brothers tumbled down the small embankment at the edge of the road. They landed hard, Dean having the upper hand, his weight bearing down on Sam.

Sam struggled against the supernatural strength of the being occupying his brother's mind, but even as strong as he was, he was no match for it. (He hated to admit it, but even on a normal day, Dean could usually kick his ass if he tried hard enough.) The man's fist came around, catching Sam high in the cheek; the blow sent the younger hunter's head snapping back. Sam just barely managed to avoid the second hit; he heard the hard impact of Dean's knuckles in the dirt next to his head.

Reaching his arm out to his side, Sam tried to find something – anything – to defend himself with. – The gun at his back wasn't even an option. He wasn't going to shoot his brother; Sam would rather die than do that. – His hand finally came to rest on a rough piece of wood. From the feel of it, it might have been as thick as his arm.

"Dean, I'm sorry, man," Sam muttered as he swung it at his brother's head. It connected solidly and Dean slumped over onto him. All Sam could do was let out a deep breath and drop his head back to the ground. "This is so not good," he said as he blew his bangs out of his face.

Slenderman watched from the trees, unseen. When Dean fell unconscious, he tilted his head and disappeared.

* * *

As Dean started to come around, he noticed right away that the sounds of the Impala were absent. It didn't take long to realize his hands were secured to something above his head and that had him opening his eyes almost instantly.

He looked around and saw that he was in a motel room. Navy blue curtains with a maroon and purple plaid pattern were closed over the windows and he could hear the couple in the next room getting their groove on through the paper-thin wall.

"Sam?" Dean groaned. It felt like someone had had a party inside his head and had forgotten to invite him. His cough had woken up with him and he did his best to stifle it. "Sammy?"

A chair scraped on the floor on the other side of the room and Sam appeared beside the bed. "Right here, Dean. How are you feeling?"

Dean frowned and twisted his wrists, testing the strength of their bindings. "I'd be a lot better if I knew what was going on. And, you know, I'm not really into the bondage thing…even if I was into guys, which I'm not…certainly not you anyway." He smirked as he cocked an eyebrow at his brother, but his crass humor died away when he actually looked at Sam.

The younger man had a busted lip and the shadow of a bruise shone on the left side of his face. "Oh, hell." He dropped his head back into the sorry excuse for a pillow he was lying on.

"Yeah. _He_ was back. – Do you remember anything?"

"No, but my fucking head hurts."

"Sorry about that, but he didn't leave me much of a choice. I had to do something. You're like the damn Bionic Man or something when he's controlling you."

"Shit," Dean muttered mostly to himself. "I guess we should probably keep me tied up until we get to Jim's then, huh. Where are we anyway?"

"Elgin. I checked us into the closest place I could find. You were bleeding." Sam grimaced at the memory of taking Dean down like he did. "It's not too bad. No stitches or anything."

"Well, that's good or I'd have to kick your ass."

"You sorta already did, Dean."

"What else besides that?" Dean gestured to Sam's face with a slight lift of his chin.

Sam hesitated, but then answered truthfully. "A twisted ankle and maybe a bruised rib; nothing I haven't dealt with before." He subconsciously turned the black-and-blue side of his face away from Dean. "I'm just happy he didn't remember you had your-" Sam bit into his lip, cutting himself off, but he could see Dean wince. The man knew exactly what he had been about to say. Things could have ended up much differently than they had.

Dean's mouth tightened into an angry line. Things were getting out of control. Maybe he should just pack up and-

"No, Dean."

"What?" the elder Winchester asked innocently.

"I know what you're thinking and it's not gonna happen. I'm not stupid."

Another cough erupted from Dean; he cleared his throat. "I'm not thinkin' anything, Sam."

"Oh, really?"

"No, I'm not." Dean worked at the ropes at his wrists again. "You're gettin' pretty good at tying knots, Sammy."

"Don't change the damn subject. You're thinking about leaving. You think if you leave, then I'll be safe."

"I wasn't-" Dean shifted and dug his heels into the bed so he could push himself up into a sitting position. "-but that's a good idea now that you mention it."

"Screw you! What right do you have to just up and leave? Who's to say _he _won't get right back into your head and find me again?" Sam limped across the short span of space between the two beds and sat down heavily on his. "We need to work together on this. Don't you see? This isn't a one-person show. You can't handle _him_ on your own."

"Well, we sure as hell aren't doing too hot together." Dean's eyes darkened with his words. He'd be damned if he'd let Sam get hurt again. He cursed himself for ever telling his brother anything at all. "I shouldn't have gotten you into this."

Sam stood back up then. His hazel eyes flashed sharply at Dean. "Oh, god. Seriously? You know, I _should_ just leave you tied up until we get to Jim's and then he can help me finish this. It would keep you from doing something stupid. – Anyway, I was _in _this before I even knew you were, or did you happen to forget that little detail?"

Dean didn't answer. If they kept going at it, he was going to say something he'd regret. He jumped when Sam was suddenly standing over him with a knife in his hand.

"Don't, Sam. Maybe it _is_ better to leave me like this." He flexed his fingers and pleaded with his eyes. "What if _he_ does it again? Huh? What then? He's capable of doing a lot worse. Just like you said, what if he gets my gun next time? Then what?"

"And what if _he_ comes for you? I'm not leaving you tied up and defenseless."

"Dammit, Sam…"

Sam ignored Dean's growl of protest as he carefully tucked his blade up between the rope and the thin skin of Dean's left wrist and severed the binding. After the one hand was free, he handed the knife to his brother so the man could cut the other side on his own.

"So, you wanna finish the trip tonight or head out in the morning," Sam asked when Dean handed the knife back to him.

Dean glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was a little before 5:00 p.m. They were looking at another six hours of driving plus time to stop for dinner. Between Sam's ankle – it looked like he was favoring the right one, so driving would be a chore for him – and Dean's possible concussion, it probably wasn't too smart to hit the road tonight. The ill feeling he'd had earlier before whatever it was that had happened was staking its claim on him again as well. Maybe he'd feel better in the morning after some sleep.

"We'll lay low for tonight." Dean shifted to the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes when the room tilted momentarily. "I'll, uh, just give Jim a call and tell him we're running behind."

"Here's your jacket." Sam tossed Dean his coat from where he had left it at the foot of the bed earlier. "It's probably gonna be slow going getting there. The news said there's a storm coming in. I think…" he trailed off as he walked over to the window and pulled the curtain aside to look outside. "Yeah, it's already starting to snow. They're talking something like six to ten inches."

"Crap." Dean loved his car, but Baby didn't handle all that well in the snow. "Maybe we should have gone to Caleb's. At least he's further south."

Dean powered up his new phone and brought up the contact list. – His old phone might have been shot to shit, but at least the tech geek at the store was able to transfer everything over for him (including some nice blackmail pictures of Sam). – He dialed Jim's number and brought the device up to his ear.

* * *

They had pizza delivered. Both men sat in their beds watching television as they ate. Dean picked at his food – he forced less than two slices down – before he set his plate aside on the nightstand. Sam noticed Dean's lack of appetite, but he didn't comment on it. His brother had had a rough day and the man still wasn't looking all that well; he looked flushed and a little too tired. The older hunter was doing his best to cover it, but Sam knew better. He also noticed Dean had kicked the heavy comforter off the bed and was covered only by the thin sheet. That could only mean the man was probably feverish on top of everything else. The heat was on in the room, but there was still a chill in the air.

Time passed and before either of them really noticed what they were watching, they were both deeply immersed in the chick flick 'Sleepless in Seattle'; it just sort of ended up on the channel they were watching. Both men realized it at the same time and looked at each other. Dean smirked and shrugged his shoulders and Sam couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Dean fell asleep before the movie ended, his exhaustion finally winning the battle. Sam picked up the empty beer bottles and napkins, threw them in the garbage, and then put the remaining pizza in the small fridge. (It wouldn't hurt to have around for breakfast.) Afterwards, he took a quick shower. He hadn't wanted to leave Dean's side while the man had been unconscious, so all he'd been able to do earlier was wash his hands and face since the roll in the dirt with his brother that afternoon.

When he came out, Sam saw a fine sheen of sweat on Dean's forehead and laid the back of his fingers to his brother's brow. Dean didn't stir; he was burning up with a fever. "Dammit," Sam murmured as he went to his bag to get a couple of ibuprofen and then went to the bathroom to fill a glass with cold water.

The tumbler fell from his hand, soaking the carpet at Sam's feet, when he returned and saw Slenderman standing beside Dean's bed; it reminded Sam all too much of what the Grim Reaper would probably look like.

"Leave him alone." His voice was barely a whisper, but the words were saturated with loathing. Seeing the creature hovering over his brother like that made his blood boil.

Sam forgot all panic and fear as he approached the pale man. He snatched his Taurus off the table as he strode across the room; only a few feet separated them when Sam stopped. He clenched his gun in his hand, index finger wrapped around the trigger and ready to pull.

It was the closest Sam had ever gotten to _it_, but all caution was thrown to the wind. This needed to end. The thought of this _thing_ hurting Dean again sent a thrill of pure rage through him.

"I will end you," Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "I don't know what you are, but I'll find a way."

Slenderman stood there, unmoving, but somehow Sam knew it was no longer watching Dean; it was looking straight at him now.

Sam heard a rustling of sheets over his shoulder. Dean was waking up. _Crap._ But he couldn't take his eyes off of _him._ Something could happen to Dean. _It_ could take his brother again and Sam wasn't willing to risk it.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was rough with sleep. "What's- Sam!"

_Fuck. Shit was gonna hit the fan now._

A flurry of movement was heard behind him and Sam knew Dean was getting out of bed, but he still wouldn't look away from the creature; he wasn't going to let him go.

"Sam, get away from it!"

Sam held up a staying hand while the other kept his gun trained on the creature. "No, Dean. I'm not letting him take you again."

This was the first time both Sam and Dean were able to see Slenderman at the same time, a fact neither of them failed to notice. Something was different this time and it disturbed both brothers in equal measure.

"Sam, you don't understand what it can do to you," Dean pleaded. "And a gun ain't gonna do jack; you know that."

Yeah, Sam knew that. He did. But it had been pure instinct to grab the weapon when he'd seen the creature. He adjusted his grip on his gun, refusing to lower it. "It hasn't been able to hurt me yet, only when it's using you as its puppet. Even you said he couldn't get to me for whatever reason." Sam hoped that was true. "Just keep it out of your head if you can." If Slendy got into Dean now…

_Oh, shit. Shitshitshit. _Sam had misunderstood him. "Sammy… That's not… He just can't get in your head. He can still-"

Sam's eyes widened when what Dean was saying clicked. He immediately began to back away from the Thin Man, but his foot got caught up in the comforter Dean had tossed to the floor earlier.

And Sam lost his balance…

Dean watched it all happen in front of him as if it was being played out in slow motion. His brother tripped; Sam threw his arms out to catch himself only to find nothing to grab onto but _him._ Dean launched himself forward towards Sam and hollered as his brother fell into the overlong arms of his lifelong nemesis. The long limbs wrapped tightly around the younger hunter, crushing him up against its body. "Dean!" Sam called his name out just as Slenderman tilted his head and they disappeared.

"Sam! – Oh, god, no! Sammy!" Dean's legs slowly gave out and he stumbled to his knees. A black piece of cloth caught his eye and he picked it up…Slenderman's 'calling card'; he'd seen it before. "This can't be happening." He remained there without moving for what seemed like an eternity. _Sam's gone._ The words repeated themselves like a broken record in his mind. "Fuck!"

He'd just lost Sam…the one thing he'd fought for, for so long…the one thing he was supposed to protect.

* * *

A soft groan slipped from Sam's lips. _What a fucking dream…_ He reached up lazily and scratched at his chest; the pads of his fingers slipped through something cold and wet. Snow? "Holy shit!" He sat up suddenly, coming fully awake, and dusted the thin layer of snow off his semi-frozen body.

"Not a dream," he mumbled as his brain woke up and the fog cleared from his mind. The last thing he remembered was falling into Slenderman's arms…and then everything went 'fade to black'.

The hunter glanced around at his surroundings as he pushed stiffly up to his feet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," the hunter muttered as he as he stood there shivering – and feeling pretty damn vulnerable – dressed in just a pair of old track pants. (It wasn't like he'd had time to put on a pair of shoes or find a shirt.) He chafed his arms with his hands trying to ward off the chill, but it was freezing cold out and it didn't look like the weather was going to let up any time soon.

He was in the middle of a forest – just like Dean had been – and there wasn't a building in sight, let alone the cramped motel room he'd been sharing with his brother before he'd so gracefully taken a swan dive into the Thin Man's arms; not that he could see that far under the tremulous light of the crescent moon which was peeking in and out from behind the storm clouds above.

_How long had he been out here?_ He guessed not too long by the amount of snow that he had dusted off his body.

A wraithlike fog blanketed the ground at Sam's feet; the mist slithered up and wrapped around his calves like a living, breathing thing and he couldn't suppress the shudder that worked its way up his body.

The hunter looked around, specifically eying the shadowy silhouettes of the trees which seemed all too much like they were reaching out and grasping at him with their spindly branches. _He_ was out there somewhere; Sam was sure of it. Dean had commented that Slenderman could blend into the trees all too easily, like a friggin' chameleon. Speaking of his brother… _Was Dean out there somewhere?_

"Dean!" Sam shouted out into the void of night. It was a risk, but one he felt was necessary.

Nothing. Not a sound. Only the quiet whisper of snowflakes touching down all around him answered his call.

A twig snapped behind Sam and he whirled around, pupils widening against hazel as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Only then did he realize he no longer had his gun; he was weaponless. – His Taurus was either back in the room or lost somewhere out here, wherever here was. – Sam's gaze warily darted left, right – all around – even up into the towering trees overhead. He tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to maintain some semblance of calm, but hell, if this thing could get to Dean like it did, Sam knew there was good reason to fear _it_.

But there was nothing, just an overwhelming silence.

Sam swept his snow-wet bangs out of his face and then blew into his hands trying to warm them up some. _If Slenderman doesn't kill me soon, I'm gonna die from exposure_, he thought grimly. "Well, no sense in standing around freezing my balls off," the hunter muttered before picking a direction to head off in, the soles of his bare feet crunching in the cold snow beneath him.

He picked his way slowly through the tangle of low-hanging branches, wincing when they scraped and scratched against his already raw skin. Sam couldn't help but think that something was _off_ here. Slenderman wouldn't have just taken him like that and then left him; there was just no way. Maybe it was because _he_ was just trying to separate him from Dean so he could get Dean alone? The thought had the younger Winchester picking up his pace.

* * *

Sam stumbled and fell to his knees in the snow; he could hardly feel his feet anymore and his fingers were nearly frozen. He'd only been walking for maybe twenty minutes but the temps were dropping to dangerously low digits. He tried blowing into his cupped hands again, but it wasn't enough.

It was then that his sixth sense began to kick in, sending a warning flare out to him. He sluggishly pushed back up to stand and looked behind him. Sam barely caught sight of _him _before something slammed into him, the sheer force of it lifting the hunter from his feet and throwing him back into a tree just a few feet behind him; his already bruised ribs cried out as he collided with it and crumpled into a heap on the ground.

Sam groaned and tried to shake off the hit as best as he could before getting back up, wiping blood from a shallow cut on his temple as he did, and turning to face his attacker. He took a deep, steadying breath as he pulled himself up to his full height; it still didn't match that of Slenderman, not even close; the creature seemed closer to eight or nine feet at the moment, taller than Sam had ever seen him.

Slenderman stood there, unmoving, his pale face luminescent in the surrounding night. Aside from his two unnaturally long, almost human arms, Sam could see that there were six serpentine appendages extending out from his back and shoulders. From Dean's description of the creature, Sam knew they were razor sharp and could move in a whip-like fashion. It was just one more thing he'd have to watch out for.

The hunter held its gaze, knowing it would move if he looked away. He waited to see what it would do. Sam didn't know this thing like his brother did; it would be easier for him to react than to act.

A full minute passed and Slenderman remained where he was, as still as death. The only movement coming from the creature was from those extra 'arms' which snaked and coiled about through the air. The hunter wasn't sure if he was imagining things, but it sure as fuck looked like they might have been growing longer, too.

Suddenly, he realized what _it_ was about to do. _Shit._ _Run, Sam,_ he told himself. Dean had said you couldn't outrun this thing, but, really, what else could Sam do, stand there and wait for _it_ to kill him?

Sam turned on his heel and ran…hard. He didn't look back as he fled. Unseen branches whipped out and snagged at him as he ran blindly into the dark of night; they tore at his skin leaving shining rivulets of blood in their wake; they caught in his hair and pulled at it. But none of that mattered. Sam had to get away.

The young hunter ran until he was gasping for air and finally had to stop. (He was in shape, but he could only run so far…and his damn feet were killing him.) Sam leaned up against a tree, the cold bark biting into the flesh of his back. His shoulders rose and fell with every straining breath as he eyed the area looking for _him_.

The snow hadn't let up and a breeze whistled through the forest sending another shiver through Sam as he surveyed the area. There was no sign of Slenderman, but for all he knew, the thing could be right there and he just wasn't seeing it. "Dean, I'm so gonna kick your ass when this is over with," he muttered, white wisps of breath puffing out with every exhale. If his goddamned brother had only dealt with this thing ages ago when he should have, Sam wouldn't be in this mess.

Once he caught his breath, Sam looked over his shoulder. He saw nothing, but with the weather seeming to have taken a turn for the worse in just the two minutes he'd been standing there, it was hard to see anything, let alone _it. _After one last quick look around, Sam pushed off the tree to continue in his flight. He had to get out of these woods if he was going to survive.

It all happened in the split second it took to blink an eye. The way had been clear; Sam was sure of it. But suddenly _he_ was just there and the hunter ran straight into _him._ It was like hitting an unmoving wall of concrete.

Sam spun around then, fully intending on running in the opposite direction, but as soon as he took his eyes off Slenderman and turned, he knew he had made a mistake. He slid to a stop before he collided with _him _again_._

_Crap, Dean wasn't kidding about this thing. _"What the hell do you want?" Sam yelled as he backed up a few steps while trying to keep his eyes on the creature.

Deafening silence. Slenderman only stared at the hunter.

Strangely, Sam would have felt a lot better if the thing would answer back, or at least move. He really had no idea how to approach this whole situation and come out on top. Sam was a good hunter – better than good and he knew it – but the lack of expression and movement from the creature gave him nothing to work with. It didn't help that he hadn't had much time to research this thing either.

They were at a stalemate. _It _was waiting for Sam, the hunter realized. A predator watching its prey, slowly driving it mad until it broke and acted…and then _it_ would react. Sam hated being the prey. "Shit." Well, if it was waiting for Sam to react, then Sam would give him what he wanted…only Sam would do it his own way.

Sam moved without hesitation, his adrenaline kicking in and thawing his near-frozen limbs. Instead of attempting to flee again, he attacked.

It didn't work out as well as he had hoped; Sam barely made it halfway to his goal before the being reacted.

The hunter screamed as a tearing pain lanced through his left shoulder; the impact brought him to an abrupt halt. He looked down and saw that one of Slenderman's tentacles had driven deeply into his flesh; he could feel the knife-like edge of it pushing into the meat of his shoulder. Sam grit his teeth, trying to swallow an agonized gasp. A split second later, he screamed, eyes screwing shut as – _fuck!_ – it went right through his goddamn shoulder and out the other side with a slick, wet sound.

When he managed to open his eyes, Sam saw another of the appendages shoot towards him and he instinctively tried to pull away from it; the action jarred his already torn shoulder and he cried out again. This one stopped just short of shish-kabobbing him though. Instead, the tip of it flicked across his cheek, leaving a fine trail of crimson in its wake.

Sam glared up at the silent creature, fury eclipsing the pain in his eyes, and he managed to pull it together enough to speak. "You can do what you want with me, but my brother is going to kick your fucking ass."

Slenderman's only response was to send another tentacle lashing out towards Sam. This one coiled around his neck, cutting off the hunter's air and choking off his words.

Burning tears of agony fell from Sam's eyes and his lungs began to burn from lack of air. He tried to focus on not passing out, although if the spots in front of his eyes had something to say about it, he didn't have long.

_'Dean'_ was Sam's last thought as he felt the darkness start to pull at him.

**_To be continued..._**


	7. Chapter 7

***CHAPTER 7***

* * *

How long he remained there, on his knees and staring at the empty space where Sam and Slenderman had previously occupied, Dean had no clue. It could have been hours, minutes, seconds… He finally remembered to breathe and forced himself up to his feet. As he did, he picked up Sam's Taurus from where it had fallen to the floor. This whole situation felt hopeless, but – _dammit_ – he wasn't going to just give up.

The heat of a fever warmed his body and Dean could feel the prickle of sweat under his t-shirt. He was definitely sick; there was no question about that. Dean rubbed at the piercing pain behind his forehead – his whole head felt like it had a steel band wrapped around it – as he set Sam's gun on the table and then went over to his duffel where he retrieved an unmarked prescription bottle which he kept tucked away in the side pocket. – He swallowed down a couple of white pills with a cold beer from the fridge.

The hunter knew Sam already had ideas that this 'illness' had something to do with Slendy, and now he was starting to believe it. Every time the creature showed up, Dean's health seemed to be falling down a notch on the health-o-meter. He needed to be clear-headed if he was going to save his brother.

Dean pulled a faded pair of blue jeans and a wheat-colored Henley out of his bag; he needed to get dressed before doing anything. _God-fucking-dammit!_ _Sam had to be all 'Mr. Superhero' and try to confront Slendy all on his own. What the hell was he thinking? Sam knew better than that,_ he thought as he tugged on his clothes in a rush, ignoring the way his ribs rebelled against his hurried movements.

Once he was dressed, Dean began pacing the small room; his mind was racing a million miles a minute. "Think, Dean," he told himself. And then he stopped at the foot of his bed, staring down at his bag. "Son of a bitch." Dean upended his duffel and dumped the contents out.

A worn out pair of jeans were one of the last things to fall out onto the pile and Dean started going through the pockets. In one of the back pockets, he found what he was looking for: a folded square of paper that looked like it had seen better days. He unfolded it carefully, revealing the three missing pages from their dad's journal, and set them down on the small breakfast table. Dean scrubbed his hands up over his face – they chafed over his three-day old stubble – and then he carded them through his hair as he looked down at the wrinkled pieces of paper.

The sheets were carefully taped together because they'd previously been torn to shreds. Dean had done that, had wanted to remove any evidence of the creature that had been pursuing him for so long and the things that had happened to him during that time. But the elder hunter had thought better of it before tossing the pieces into the trash bin and setting fire to them.

His father had researched the hell out of Slenderman after what had happened to Dean. When the younger Winchester had woken up a week and a half after his ordeal only to find himself in some hospital – somehow still alive and breathing – he had lied and told the man he didn't remember anything. (Dean had to protect his family after all.) The man had given him a hard, scrutinizing look, but ultimately accepted his son's words. Dean's lack of information didn't stop John from trying to figure this thing out though. Something had gone after one of his boys and would pay for it with its life.

The tattered pages were covered in the eldest Winchester's tight and hurried script. His written words entailed everything he'd witnessed from the very moment he'd stepped foot out into the front yard of that house in Nyack, all the way to finding Dean in the woods of northwest Maryland; Green Ridge State Forest to be specific. There were also notes summarizing the results of certain tests the doctors had done, results and findings Sam would _never_ know about if Dean had his way.

Dean skimmed the pages, chewing on his bottom lip as he did. Most of it he skipped over. He didn't need to read through what he had suffered; he knew all of that too well. The stuff he was interested in covered the front and back of the last sheet of paper. Bits and pieces of lore were noted; things were crossed out and other things were squeezed into the side margins. Even though Dean had kept mum about what was really going on, John had been damn close to figuring it all out. The only thing he'd really been missing was a name. (The guy was one of the best hunters/researchers out there; he'd even give old Bobby Singer a run for his money.) What Dean was looking for was halfway down the last page.

The ritual John had found probably came from some old, archaic text and had never been tested out, not to Dean's knowledge anyway; there hadn't been time. Things had gone to hell in the days after Dean had been found and John Winchester had hit the ground running. Apparently there had been more important things out there to hunt and Dean had been glad for it at the time.

What the man had found might be Sam's only chance.

* * *

Dean glanced at his watch. It was late. 11:38 p.m. to be precise. He couldn't be sure how long it had been since Sam had disappeared; he had no idea what time he'd woken up to see Sam confronting Slenderman. And the time he'd sat there wallowing in self-pity and guilt was lost to him.

His shoulders shook with a cough as he folded the pages of the journal up and tucked them into the interior pocket of his jacket. Dean then quickly moved across the room to where the weapons duffel sat up against the wall and hauled it onto his bed; the sound of its contents shifting and settling as he set it down was loud in the quiet room. Dean dug around until he found his buck knife and then strapped it to his belt. He rummaged through the bag some more, fingers moving over the cold steel and iron of their collected assortment of weapons, but there wasn't much else he needed; Slendy was immune to it all. Dean zipped the bag shut and tossed it back to the floor.

When he was ready to go, Dean grabbed his keys from the small breakfast table and turned to leave. But as he did, he caught sight of Sam's shoes by the door and his jacket which was laid out over the back of the couch. _Shit._ Sam hadn't had anything on but sleep pants. The hunter collected some of the younger man's things and put a small knapsack together. The kid was going to be cold when he found him. And, yes, Dean was going to find his brother.

He shouldered the small pack and opened the door to go outside. "Aw, c'mon. You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Dean had forgotten that it had been snowing out. "Baby, you're gonna have to make me proud here," the hunter said as he quickly went around the car and dusted the few inches of snow that had accumulated off its windows before opening the door and getting in.

After he turned the key and the engine roared to life, Dean reached over and pulled a map of the surrounding area out from the glove box as well as the small Maglite Sam always kept in there. (The kid did a lot of reading in the dark while they were on the road.) The hunter held the flashlight between his teeth as he spread the map out on the seat and started looking for what he needed, fingers tracing over the area where the motel was located. The ritual could be done anywhere, but it was better to do it somewhere that Slendy was more willing to show up.

"Yahtzee," he exclaimed a few moments later.

Dean folded the map up and tossed it aside. He shifted the car into reverse and punched the gas, spinning the tires in the wet snow. "Fuck!" He let up on the pedal and took a breath. "Slow, Dean. C'mon." It was damn hard to do this when you were in a rush, but Dean got the car moving and got her out onto the road. "Hang in there, Sammy…just a little longer."

* * *

Sam's eyes grew wide as his air was cut off. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he kicked his legs out helplessly and grappled and clawed at the looping coil around his neck. His blood-slicked hands only slipped against Slenderman's tight hold and Sam felt himself teetering on the edge of consciousness.

_Aw, hell._

And then the world disappeared behind closed eyelids.

* * *

It was a hair-raising ride – Baby didn't want to cooperate. But really, it wasn't her fault; the roads hadn't been plowed yet – but Dean made it the six miles out to the Burnidge Forest Preserve. He barely had the keys out of the ignition before he grabbed the knapsack with Sam's clothes and was out of the car, jogging off towards the trees, the light from his flashlight cutting through the darkness in front of him.

Dean had his Colt at the small of his back, but it might as well have been a water gun for all it was worth. It didn't help him that one night. Why would it suddenly be of any help tonight? He really hated the fact that he was going into this without any real laid out plans. But honestly, the only thing he cared about was getting Sam back, or at least getting Slendy away from Sam long enough to give his brother a chance…if it wasn't already too late. _You gotta stop thinking like that, Dean. Sam's strong, stronger than most people you know._

The hunter hiked into the forest and kept going until the parking lot was out of sight, and then he continued on for another hundred yards or so. When Dean felt he had gone far enough, he looked around until he spotted a tree that would work.

He walked up to the old oak tree and dropped the knapsack to the ground beside him. "Dad, wherever you are, this better work," he muttered as he unsheathed his knife. Dean brought the point of the blade up and began carving what was known, according to his father's notes, as the Operator symbol into the bark at eye level. He tried to keep his shaking hands steady as he did.

The odd 'circle with an X drawn through it' had several different meanings according to John Winchester's research. It all came down to who was drawing it as to how it worked. For Dean, he was using it to summon _him_.

When Dean was done, he secured the knife away and then double-checked the ritual making sure he had the words properly memorized – it reminded him way too much of the whole Bloody Mary ordeal that he and Sam had just dealt with not too long ago – and then he stuffed the paper back into his coat pocket. Dean turned off the flashlight then and tucked it away, leaving himself cloaked in darkness. Good; the darker the better.

The hunter pressed his cheek to the symbol on the tree – had to stifle another cough – closed his eyes, and then began reciting the words. They fell slowly and precisely from his lips…

_ Slenderman, Slenderman, all the children try to run,_

_ Slenderman, Slenderman, to him its part of the fun._

_ Slenderman, Slenderman, dressed in dark his suit and tie,_

_ Slenderman, Slenderman, you most certainly will die._

He braced himself when he was done and opened his eyes to look around. Nothing. He was just as alone as he was before he closed his eyes. The feeling that he was wasting time surged through him and he cursed. "Fucking goddammit!" Sam was out there, possibly dying, and here he was trying out some unproven ritual. If this didn't work, he had no idea what to do. Sam could be anywhere.

Dean brushed the newly fallen snow out of his hair – the storm seemed to have gotten worse since he'd left the car; although, he had to admit, the cold air felt good on his overheated skin – and forced himself to concentrate. He took a calming breath, cleared his throat, and squared his shoulders. _Focus, Dean._ He closed his eyes again and reached deep within himself to try to find his center. (Maybe he should have listened more when Sam had talked about taking Yoga classes with Jess…all that meditation and shit.) And then Dean placed his cheek against the rough bark of the tree again and repeated the ritual.

This time a low thrum began to reverberate around him as he spoke the words and Dean had to force himself to keep his eyes closed. The symbol under his cheek began to glow brightly and Dean's skin prickled almost like it had fallen asleep as an electrical charge built up under it. The hunter pushed harder, his voice becoming more commanding as he reached the final line.

"Show yourself, you fucker," he growled out when the summons was completed for a second time. Dean opened his eyes and turned around. "I demand that you get your sorry ass back here…or don't you have the balls," he challenged.

* * *

The welcoming embrace of oblivion hadn't been strong enough to keep Sam under for long; it was obvious to him that he'd only been out for seconds when he opened his eyes. As soon as his brain connected with the nerves in his shoulder, he cried out. Slenderman may have released his life-threatening hold from around Sam's neck, but that other goddamn tentacle was still firmly implanted in his shoulder…and it was holding the hunter just high enough off the frozen ground that when Sam scrambled for purchase, his toes barely made contact with it.

The young hunter was more than a little light-headed. He knew he had lost a shit ton of blood and was still bleeding quite profusely from the wound in his shoulder. The severe pounding of his heart in his chest wasn't helping the situation at all, but he couldn't make it slow down, not when he felt like a damn piñata.

The pinpricks of stars glittered in the night sky behind Slenderman's head as Sam strained to look up at him through wet eyes. He wondered why the creature hadn't killed him yet. It seemed like the thing was just toying with him. And once more, Sam wished there was some way to communicate with the creature. At least he'd have some idea of what it wanted.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You gonna just stare at me all night or do something?" Sam asked, hazel eyes full of contempt, when the Thin Man didn't move. Its other tentacles had retreated to somewhere he couldn't see, but that didn't make him feel any better about his situation.

How could Dean find him? Sam didn't even know where the hell he was; he could be in the untamed depths of the Canadian wilderness for all he knew, thousands of miles away from the only person who could save him. Sam hadn't known where Dean was when he had disappeared, not until his brother had called him and actually told him. There was quite the real possibility that Sam would never see his brother again and that scared him more than actually dying. He was also worried about what would happen to Dean if he didn't make it out of this. The younger hunter knew, as well as he knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west, that his brother would blame himself if he died.

The hunter was pulled from his thoughts when something changed. Slenderman started to stretch and grow, his height competing with that of the surrounding trees. Sam had a pretty good idea of what the Thin Man had in mind; Dean had told him enough for him to make an educated guess. His survival instincts kicking in, Sam began to fight in earnest, hands slipping through the warm viscosity of his own blood as he tried to find some way, _any_ way, to get away from the creature.

It was a fruitless effort – he knew that – but the hunter in him told him that he had to fight, had to survive, if not for his sake, then for Dean's. And he tried. Oh, god, was he trying. But his struggles grew weaker; his body was succumbing to the effects of mild shock. (Somewhere in the back of Sam's mind, he knew the frigid air would help protect him from the worst of it, but only for a little while.) The sound of his own panicked breathing was the only thing the hunter could hear as his vision began to blur and fade around the edges.

So this is it then. He was going to end up impaled on some damn branch way up in a tree and be left there to die a slow death. _And, oh, if I'm lucky, I'll have my internal organs ripped out before I die, too_, Sam thought sarcastically.

It was much too small of a movement for Sam to notice; he was too busy trying to survive.

Slenderman's head tilted.

* * *

The bright light of the Operator symbol cast shadows over Dean's features, illuminating his profile and giving him an otherworldly quality as he stood there in the darkness waiting. The hunter was sure the ritual had worked this time. The fact that the Operator symbol was lit up like a damn Christmas tree behind him was evidence enough of that.

The silence around Dean grew quieter, if that was even possible. He tried to prepare himself mentally for the inevitable confrontation which was about to happen. The longer he could keep Slendy occupied, the better it would be for Sam.

Dean wet his lips and swallowed tightly. "C'mon…," he called out to the night, body tense and ready to fight.

He blinked, dark eyelashes brushing over freckles briefly.

And Slenderman was suddenly there, towering over him like some freaky distant cousin of Mister Fantastic. Dean's first thought as the familiar sense of dread and despair filled the pit of his stomach was: _It fucking worked. _He had been sure it would, but not positive.

But the hunter wasn't prepared for what happened next.

"Oh, shit," he gasped as he looked…up.

Dean hadn't planned on this.

* * *

Sam blinked. Even as dazed as he was, he could tell that the scenery around them had changed. It was still trees, but different ones…at least, he thought so. Then again, his mind was a little too fuzzy at the moment to really catch all the details.

"Sammy?"

_Dean?_ Sam couldn't be sure with the sound of his pulse rushing in his ears.

And then suddenly he felt the wet tug and pull of Slenderman's tentacle as it retracted from his shoulder; the withdrawal of the razor-sharp appendage felt like a raging fire burning through his flesh. All Sam could manage was a whimpered cry. He barely had time to take a shuddering breath before he found himself falling.

"Dean!"

* * *

"Sammy?" Dean could just barely make out his brother's dangling form at the end of one of Slenderman's creepy-ass tentacles. The word was hardly out of his mouth before the deadly appendage pulled back and Sam began to fall. It was only about twenty feet – they'd both fallen/jumped from worse heights in the past when needed – but Dean had no idea how damaged his brother already was. Sam didn't sound like he was in the condition to tuck and roll.

"Shit! Fuck!" Dean moved without hesitation.

The elder Winchester broke his brother's fall, but Sam still hit hard. They were in a pile of tangled limbs and Dean worked quickly to get them sorted out. He didn't have time to check the younger man out because Slendy was still standing there, back to his normal height now, and he was staring silently at them.

_"Brother trying to protect brother." _The quiet words wormed their way into the hunter's mind._ "Tell me, Dean, how does it make you feel to see one you love so much bleeding because you couldn't follow a simple direction? – Why do you think your brother is really here? And think hard." _If the creature could smirk, Dean would swear that it was at that moment.

Dean stilled; he risked a glance over at his unconscious brother.

Another second went by…

_Holy shit_, Dean thought when it suddenly clicked. He looked back up at the creature, jaw tight, green eyes flashing with a coldness that would have most men backing down. Everything the Thin Man had said to him the other night had been a lie, a ruse to get him to break their original deal. It wasn't fair, but when was anything fair when dealing with the supernatural? Dean had been duped into telling Sam about Slenderman.

Nothing had ever changed. Slenderman had never been after Sam; there had never been anything 'special' about his brother. – The real reason the creature hadn't been able to get into Sam's head was because Sam wasn't under Slendy's control. – The youngest Winchester was just a means to an end, another way to break Dean down. Dean himself had been the intended victim all along; it was crystal clear now. Jess' death had been a convenient coincidence; Sam's previous sightings of Slendy were all part of the deception, too. It was all a set up.

The seed of guilt that Slenderman had planted tried to take root, but Dean choked it off before it could get a hold of him. Guilt wasn't going to help Sam right now. "Go to Hell, you sick son of a bitch!" the hunter snarled. He'd had enough of these damn head games. Dean unsheathed his knife and attacked with a burning fury. He didn't give a flying fuck if it did damage or not. But before Dean was able to bring the blade down, Slenderman's head tilted and he disappeared.

_"I will come back for you, Dean…"_

The statement echoed in Dean's head as he stumbled into the nothing left in Slenderman's wake, breath coming out in thick, white puffs in the winter air. He didn't have time to think over the latest revelations or worry about the hanging threat. The Thin Man was gone for the moment and Sam needed his help.

Snatching up the knapsack from the ground, Dean hurried back over to his brother, skidding down to his knees when he reached him. The man hadn't moved and that had Dean more than a little concerned. He cupped a hand under Sam's jaw and gently turned his brother's face so he could see him under the soft glow of the moon.

"Sammy? Hey, kiddo. Talk to me." Dean's eyes trailed down to the dark blood stain on Sam's shoulder. "Shit," he hissed. It brought back too vivid memories and Dean grimaced. His gaze tracked down the rest of his brother's body. He didn't see any other injuries, nothing that stood out anyway. That was something good at least.

Dean pressed two fingers to his brother's neck. Sam's pulse was too weak and erratic for his comfort. Hypothermia and shock were his two foremost worries. Dean had to get Sam warmed up and back to the room so he could patch him up properly.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean mumbled as he unzipped the bag and dumped everything out into the snow. He sifted through it and grabbed the first aid kit. There wasn't much he could do here, but he could at least bandage the wounds, try to keep Sam from bleeding out too much more.

Sam groaned and tried to pull away when Dean swiped an alcohol pad over the injury. "Try to keep still, little brother. I got you. Let me just get this thing covered up and we'll get some clothes on you, okay?"

"D'n?"

"Yeah, it's me," Dean replied as he urged Sam onto his side to work on the exit wound on his back; he tried to ignore the fresh patch of blood on the snow where Sam had been laying. "Stay still so I can get you taken care of."

A low groan was the only reply from Sam.

"You always were a baby," Dean teased, trying to break the gravity of the situation.

" 'm not."

The elder brother smirked. That right there told him Sam was going to be okay.

* * *

It, by no means, was it an easy trip back to the Impala. Sam was damn near hypothermic and he could barely hold himself up on his own two feet. Dean had his arm wrapped around his brother and bore the brunt of the man's weight. Several times his feet slipped on the icy path under his boots and he swore.

"Dude, just so you know, next time you're carrying me."

"Not funny."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when the car came into view. They pushed through the heavy drifts of snow and made it the last fifty feet.

"Front or back?" Dean asked as they approached the car. It would be more comfortable for the younger man in the back seat. He knew that from experience.

"Front."

_Of course_. "Okay. You think you can keep upright while I get the door open?" Dean waited for Sam to reply – he got a slight nod – before he leaned Sam up against the side of the car and dug his keys out of his pocket.

The door swung open with a loud, creaking groan and Dean turned to help Sam into the seat. "Just take it slow."

Sam tried to stifle his groan as he bent over to get into the car, but it goddamn hurt. He supposed he could deal with it though. After all, he could have been dead. Somehow Dean had gotten to him in time. Even through the haze of pain, Sam knew that they were going to have to talk about that later. Dean had been able to get some control over Slenderman and it might be the key to ending this whole nightmare…or at least protecting themselves from future attacks.

The younger Winchester didn't get much further than that thought before his head dropped down to the window and he fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Something touched Sam's shoulder and he jolted awake in panic, eyes wide and ready to fight. And then he saw Dean and let out a breath. "Shit, man."

"We're back at the room," Dean informed him. "You alright?"

"Never better," he mumbled in reply.

Dean nodded. "Uh, huh. Right. – I'm gonna go unlock the door and then come back for you. You gonna be okay for a sec?"

"I've been worse, Dean. Really, I'll live." His brother stared at him for a second before climbing out of the car. Sam sat back in the seat and closed his eyes again. He really wasn't feeling all that well. When Dean came back a moment later, it took him a minute to force his eyes open and sit up.

"Okay, let's get you inside so I can get you fixed up," Dean said as he leaned over and wrapped an arm around Sam to help pull him out of the car. He didn't like it when the fingers of his left hand came in contact with blood on the back of Sam's shoulder. _Shit._ "C'mon, Sam. Up you go."

He lifted and Sam stumbled into him as he tried to get clumsy feet under him. Dean almost fell over when the younger man accidentally stepped on his foot. He was just barely able to keep them from both falling over into the slick mixture of ice and snow on the ground.

* * *

Sam's nose was in the crook of Dean's neck. He couldn't help but inhale the familiar scent of leather and old gun powder. It was something that Sam had associated with the man for most of his life and it was comforting. Home was what came to mind when he smelled it.

"Sam, you with me?" Sam vaguely heard his brother ask. The words felt like they were coming from far away and his brain was having a hard time making sense of them.

The younger man tried to raise his head, but it felt too heavy all of a sudden. Actually, his whole body did.

Then the world went dark.

* * *

Sam dreamed, or rather, he had nightmares. Slenderman had him…and he succeeded in what he had failed to do the first time.

_Sam hung from the tree, a thick branch protruding from his abdomen the only thing keeping him from falling. His head hung limply, chin resting against his chest. He was alone, that much he knew…well, aside from the handful of vultures sitting in the naked trees surrounding him._

_One was making its way over to him. Sam peeked up at it and watched as it lifted its wings and hopped from one branch to another. He wanted to yell at it to go away, but he barely had enough energy to breathe, let alone yell at a damn bird._

_Hours passed and the sun rose to its zenith. Its rays shone down on Sam and he closed his eyes against its merciless glare. He was startled a moment later when the loud squawk of a vulture sounded from his right. Sam managed to crack an eye open and look at it. Its beady black eyes stared back at him. So it came down to this._

_He cried out when the bird leaned down and pecked at the flesh of his neck._

_"Dean!"_

* * *

Dean was jolted awake from where he had dragged a chair up next to Sam's bed. He dropped his feet to the floor from where he'd had them propped up next to his brother's side and leaned over. He noticed as he did that the sun was now above the horizon. Glancing over at the clock, Dean saw that it was pushing 8:00 a.m. Sam had been out for more than twenty-four hours.

"Dean…" The word was so faint that Dean had to strain to hear it. It was the first sign of Sam coming back to consciousness since he'd passed out while getting out of the car. The kid had lost too much damn blood and the near hypothermia hadn't helped.

"Sam." Dean reached over and brushed the younger man's bangs back from his face. He pressed the back of his hand to his brother's forehead. Not long after Dean had gotten Sam settled into bed, his brother had succumbed to a fever. It seemed to have finally gone away with the rising of the morning sun which made Dean feel a little better about things.

It had been quiet since they had gotten back to the room. Slenderman hadn't made any special appearances, not that Dean knew of anyway. But where Sam seemed to be getting better, the older Winchester seemed to be going downhill. His headache hadn't lessened. Actually, it had gotten worse. Dean had never had a migraine, had only heard of them, but he was guessing what he had was comparable to one, maybe even worse. (No amount of pain killers seemed to help either.) He'd also endured another bloody nose late last night and he was coughing like it was nobody's business. It was really starting to suck.

"Dean." Sam repeated. He started to shift under the blankets and his fingers clenched tightly into the comforter as his face contorted into something resembling terror.

Dean moved and sat down on the bed next to Sam. "Hey, Sam. I got you. You're safe," he whispered as he took his brother's hand in his and smoothed a calloused thumb over the tops of Sam's knuckles. This was the second nightmare Sam had had since they'd gotten back to the room. And through it all, Sam remained asleep. Dean was starting to wonder if Slendy had finally found a way of getting to his brother.

* * *

Dean called the front office and told them to put another night on their card. He also made another call to Pastor Jim. When he was done, he heard Sam stirring again. This time, when he got over to the bed, Sam's eyes were open.

"Hey, kiddo. Welcome back to the land of the living," Dean teased with a relieved smile.

"Yeah, no kidding," Sam replied groggily as he ran a hand over his face and pushed his bangs back.

Sam shifted to sit up and Dean reached over to help him. "Take it easy, Rambo. You've got a couple dozen stitches going on and you're probably gonna be a little light-headed for a while." Dean turned his head and smothered a cough with the back of his sleeve.

"You still sound like shit." Sam's voice was gravelly, evidence of what he'd endured at the vicious hand of Slenderman. He winced when he tried to swallow.

Dean noted the pained expression on his brother's features. From the tender-looking bruising on Sam's neck, he had a pretty good idea of what had happened while Slendy had had the younger man in his clutches. Dean never could understand how the kid could worry about others when he was in such rough shape himself.

"Flu, remember? – Hey, you think you can keep some orange juice down? It'll be good for that throat and should help with the dizziness, too." Dean had managed to bribe someone from the local (non-delivery) diner to bring over some food and half gallon carton of orange juice yesterday. He promised (and made good on) a fifty dollar tip.

_Nice change of subject there, Dean. _Sam didn't say anything; he was too tired and weak to point it out. He nodded in answer to his brother's question.

"Good." Dean headed over to the kitchenette. "I had 'em bring over some yogurt and some of that granola shit you like so much, too, if you're up to it."

Sam smiled at his brother's thoughtfulness. The man cared about him…a lot (even if he wouldn't admit it out loud). "Just the juice is fine for now. Thanks."

The younger hunter sipped at his juice. The cool liquid was a balm to his sore throat and he knew it would help fight the effects of whatever blood loss he'd sustained.

"How are you feeling?" Dean inquired as he watched Sam from where he was perched on the edge of his own bed.

"Stiff, tired," Sam admitted. He looked down at the half empty glass in his hands and slid his thumbs over the smooth surface. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

Sam lifted his gaze from the glass to his brother. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what."

Sam watched as Dean got up and headed over to his duffle. He dug around in it for a moment, then headed back over to the sink with a white pill bottle. He filled a glass with water and popped three tablets before answering. (At the rate he was taking them, he was going to have to forge up a new prescription for a refill.)

"It's something I forgot about until after _he_ took you. It's a summoning spell. Honestly, I wasn't even sure it would work. – I wasn't expecting you to come along for the ride; you were just a bonus. – I got lucky, Sam."

Sam couldn't tell if Dean was telling the truth about forgetting or lying, but for now he'd consider himself fortunate that his brother 'remembered' it when he had. "Yeah, you and me both."

* * *

Sam had dozed off again. Dean followed quickly after now that he was sure Sam was going to be alright. His head was hurting too much to think anymore.

Two hours later, Sam woke up. He looked over and saw a Dean-shaped lump under the blankets on the other bed. They shook a moment later when the man was hit with another bout of coughs and then they stilled again.

Nature was calling which meant Sam had to get up. He carefully eased himself out of bed, minding his shoulder – he'd noticed a square of white gauze over where Slendy had so kindly plunged one of those tentacles through him; he was sure there was a matching one on his back – and moved slowly to avoid any dizziness. But before he headed across the room to the bathroom, he stopped and looked down at Dean.

The man couldn't have been doing well. Between his broken ribs, which Sam knew had to have taken a beating last night when Sam had fallen from Slenderman's hold, the fever which had started last night – Dean was still looking flushed – and the wracking coughs, Sam was worried about him. Who knew what else was going on that Dean wasn't talking about? There could be any number of things. When Dean got up later, they'd have to take stock of the situation. They couldn't face the Thin Man if one of them was too sick to handle it.

After taking care of business and brushing his teeth, Sam decided he could try eating the yogurt Dean had mentioned earlier. He found a spoon and rinsed out his glass before pouring himself more orange juice and retrieving the small, plastic container from the fridge.

Dean's jacket had been tossed haphazardly onto the table and Sam picked it up to drape it over the second chair. When he did, something fell out of the interior pocket and fluttered to the floor. He frowned as he placed his meal on the table and leaned over to pick up whatever it was.

The frown lines deepened when he realized he was looking at pages from their father's journal, pages he knew he'd never seen before.

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **The Slenderman summoning ritual is all over the internet, so I can't provide credit to any one particular source. All I know, is I didn't make it up :) I'm more than happy to give credit where it's due if someone knows where it came from though.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please remember to leave comments, good or bad. I'd love to hear from you!


	8. Chapter 8

***CHAPTER 8***

* * *

_…August 28, 2002…_

The humidity was suffocating. His clothing felt tight where it clung to his skin with sweat and he could feel beads of moisture rolling down his temples from his brow.

Dean opened his eyes.

High above from where he lay, the sun broke through the treetops and sent dappled streaks of light down to the forest floor. Every now and then one would hit him in the eye causing him to squint.

_Where…?_

And then what had happened suddenly came back to him in a rush.

"Shit."

He pushed up to his feet and let his gaze sweep the area as he brushed his hands off on his jeans. Slenderman had taken him, and he'd done it right in front of his father this time. Dean could only imagine what had gone through the man's head when he'd seen his son just disappear like that. Surely his father hadn't _seen_ Slendy, not unless the creature had wanted him to. And that wasn't very likely, not with John Winchester being the infamous hunter that he was. (But then again, from Dean's experience, he didn't think the Thin Man really gave two shits about hunters.)

Dean appeared to be alone. His only company was that of the dense woodland surrounding him. It was an old forest; the leaves on the branches overhead sagged in the moist air. There wasn't a breeze to be found and everything was deathly quiet. Not even a bird chirped.

He dug his cell phone out of his jeans pocket once he was fairly certain that he was safe for the moment. When he flipped the device open, Dean cursed. "C'mon, give a guy a break here!" There was no signal; he was on his own. Dean was going to have to find out how to get out of this without any help.

Looking at his watch, Dean saw it had stopped at 9:51 p.m., probably the time Slendy had taken him. The hunter tapped at the crystal face, but the second hand steadfastly refused to budge. "Go figure," he mumbled. He couldn't be sure if it was the same day or the next…or the day after that. There was no way to know for sure how long he'd been out.

Early on, Dean had learned that time moved differently when the Thin Man was around. The creature wasn't a time traveler by any means, but while in his domain (wherever that might be), time could either stop, move at its regular pace, speed up, or slow down. The only thing it didn't do was move backwards, not that Dean knew of.

Well, whatever time it was, it was daytime, but from where the sun was positioned in the sky, Dean guessed that it wouldn't be up much longer. He'd have to get moving if he was going to figure out where he was.

This was a first for Dean. Slendy had never plucked him from wherever and then just dropped him off somewhere else. The creature had always hung around, getting into Dean's head, making threats, showing Dean its sickening slideshows of people dying, whether real or not. He was wary as he worked his way through the trees not knowing what this meant. All he knew was that Slenderman couldn't have been very happy; Dean had dumped nearly half a dozen rounds into the thing after all.

He walked. Minutes grew into hours. The sun had long ago nestled below the horizon and there was still no sign of the forest ending, no sign of civilization.

Dean crested a ridge only to find more trees. "Seriously!" he shouted in frustration. Long shadows crisscrossed the ground all around him and he knew he was going to have to find somewhere to hunker down for the night.

Something moved behind the hunter and he spun around. The lack of light made it hard see, but instinct told him something was out there, something not natural.

"Dude, I grew out of the hide-and-seek thing when I was like-" He screamed as a stabbing pain erupted in his side. Whatever it was that had struck him, did so too quickly to be seen and then it was gone again, leaving Dean pressing his hands to the bleeding wound in his side. "Shit, you fucker!"

He leaned up against a tree, took a few deep, steadying breaths, and then looked down and lifted the corner of his t-shirt up. Trailing his fingers through the dark slick of blood, Dean found that the injury was almost as wide as the span of his hand, and from the trickle of heat he felt beading down his back, he knew the damn thing had gone right through him. He could only hope that it hadn't done any major internal damage. Who knew how far he was from a hospital?

"_Mine."_

The voice in Dean's mind caused him to snap his head up, wound temporarily forgotten. Then he steeled himself. "I don't think so, you freak. – Why don't you come out and face me, huh?"

_"You will be punished for your insolence, my child."_

"Okay, okay. I got you. You're pissed because I shot you. D'you want me to go stand in the corner or something? Or better yet, how 'bout I bend over and you can spank me until I cry." Dean was hoping to draw the creature out from wherever it was hiding.

_"Dean." _Slenderman tsked in Dean's mind (He didn't know that was even possible.)_ "Your lack of respect is unbecoming of you."_

"Yeah? Well, I seriously doubt there's anything you could ever do to make me respect you." Hell would freeze over first.

_"Then if you will not respect me, you will learn to fear me."_

Dean cried out again as another searing pain shot through him. This time, it was his right shoulder, in-and-out like the last time. "Goddammit!" he hissed. "You just keep tellin' yourself that," Dean continued through gritted teeth.

A cold and bitter laugh filled Dean's head. _"Oh, I think you'll change your mind sooner than you know."_

The hunter caught sight of Slenderman then. The creature was a mere ten feet away, but he was so well-blended with the environment that Dean was having a hard time picking him out from the trees in the weak light of the moon.

"Screw you."

_"Rest, little hunter. I will return soon."_

Dean blinked and _he_ was gone. He was alone again, left to lick his wounds. He slid down the tree at his back and rested his head against it. The hunter's gaze lifted up to the stars above. His thoughts traveled to Sam and where he was at the moment. (The kid must have been halfway across the country by now.)

Something small flew by; it could have been a bird heading back to its nest or a bat searching for its dinner. Nature had resumed its normal course of activities. And here he was, sitting in an unknown forest, blood seeping slowly from his injuries, with Slendy's threat looming over his head like the blade of a guillotine ready to come down when he least expected it.

"Awesome."

* * *

_…Present Day…_

Sam immediately glanced over to the bed where his brother was; Dean was still sleeping soundly. And then he looked down at the pages in his hand. There were three of them; the fronts and backs of each were covered in the familiar script of their father.

He sat down, meal forgotten for the time being, and began to read.

It didn't take long for Sam to make it through their father's notes. By the time he was done, his hands were shaking; he had to wipe at the tears that were blurring his vision. What that creature had done to his brother was unimaginable. It was clear from what he'd read that their father hadn't known exactly _what_ had happened – it looked like Dean had been telling the truth when he'd said their dad didn't know about Slenderman in particular – but the man had pieced enough together to get pretty damn close to figuring it all out.

The summoning spell Dean had used was right there on the last page as well as a whole slew of other notes, mostly things Dean had already told him. Even if his brother hadn't told their father about who or what Slenderman was, the man had done a decent job at finding out plenty of facts about the creature. Really, the only thing he'd been lacking was an actual name…oh, and a way to kill it. _Too bad he hadn't figured that out._

Sam let the pages fall to the table and blew his bangs out of his face as he leaned back in the chair. He looked over at the still form of his brother and let out a heavy sigh.

Dean shifted in the bed, causing Sam to quickly gather up the pages and tuck them back into his brother's jacket pocket. The man didn't need to know that he'd found them. Sam understood now why Dean refused to talk about _that_ time. As Dean had said, it wasn't a trip to Disney.

"Sammy?" Dean rolled over with a tired groan and sat up, dropping his feet to the floor, and then stretched his arms up over his head with a yawn; he grimaced when the movement pulled at his ribs. Dean looked over and saw Sam sitting at the table eating his yogurt. "Good, you're eating."

"Um, yeah. I was hungry."

"How's your shoulder?" Dean asked as he got up and crossed the room, scratching lightly at his sore ribcage. "It was a clean in-and-out, but the way he-"

"Don't worry about it, Dean. It's nothing." _Nothing like what he did to you._ "You did a good job patching it up. Thanks."

Dean didn't like the way Sam cut him off, but let it slide. "No 'thanks' needed," he said as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a water along with the pizza box from the other night. He brought it over to the table and set the box down before cracking open the plastic bottle and taking a seat.

Sam watched as Dean flipped the cardboard lid open and pulled out a cold slice of pizza. "How's your fever? You weren't doing too good last night." The younger man couldn't help but look at Dean differently. His imagination was getting the better of him; flashes of what had happened to his brother clouded his mind. That son of a bitch was gonna fry.

"Two nights ago," Dean corrected Sam. At the younger hunter's startled look, Dean continued, "He got you pretty good there, Sammy."

Sam nodded. He couldn't deny it; he'd gotten his ass thoroughly kicked.

"But anyway, to answer your question, the fever's still there. I'm dealin' with it. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about." He smirked and then took a bite of pizza as he settled back into his seat. "So, Jim's today?" When Sam didn't reply, Dean attempted to get his brother's attention. "Hello, Earth to Sam…"

"Huh?" Sam refocused on Dean.

"I asked if you think you're up to finishing the trip out to Jim's today. – You sure you're okay?"

"Just tired." Sam was starting to doubt their ability to take the Thin Man down. Dean was sick; they were both walking wounded. It seemed like every mile they went, one of them was hit with something else.

Dean coughed and then cleared his throat. "You need another day?"

Sam let out a sigh and took a drink of his orange juice before answering. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "I don't know."

"Sam… What?"

"The way he keeps knocking us down, Dean. Do you think we can actually take _him_ out? You've dealt with him; you know him. What are our chances at beating him?"

_So that's what was bothering Sam._ Dean had noticed something was up when his brother didn't react to his earlier quip. "We can beat him. He's just not gonna make it easy is all. – Listen, why don't you get your fingers walking on that computer of yours. We'll spend today researching and head out tomorrow. One more day isn't gonna to hurt anything. I'll make another call to Jim so he knows we're hanging tight for now. – Sound like a plan you can work with?" Dean popped the last of the pizza into his mouth and then took a swig of his water.

Sam went to reply, but his words never made it past his lips and his throat suddenly became dry. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the far end of the room. A familiar figure was there. _No... They'd hardly had time to recuperate after last night._ "Dean…"

"What?" Dean turned around and looked to where Sam's eyes were locked. When he saw _him_, he stood up from his chair so quickly that it fell over onto the floor with a loud clatter on the cheap linoleum floor. But just as soon as he did, Slenderman disappeared. "Fuck!"

"Is there a way to ward the room against him?" Sam had seen something in their father's notes about it, but the man hadn't seemed too sure about it working; there had been question marks after the mention of actual warding. But then again, he hadn't seemed too sure about the summoning spell either and that had worked well enough for Dean to be able to rescue him. Apparently, the man had been onto something.

Dean picked the chair and his jacket up from the floor, the latter of which he shrugged into. He pulled his keys out of the pocket. "There might be," he said as if it wasn't a big deal that he hadn't brought it up before.

"There _might_ be? Dean, if you knew something before… God, I almost got killed!"

"I told you, I forgot some stuff."

"How do you forget shit like that? Dean…" It was all right there on the paper. Dean could have at least tried. Sam wanted to point that out, but he held his tongue.

"Look, we can argue about my poor memory later. If we're gonna try this, we need some supplies. And you're coming with. I ain't leaving you here all alone after what just happened." Dean drained what was left of his water and looked at his brother, waiting for a reply.

Sam pressed his lips together into a thin line and conceded with a nod. He knew if he opened his mouth, the dam would burst. He got up, grabbed his coat from the foot of his bed, and followed Dean out the door.

* * *

They got back a little less than forty-five minutes later; the snow had tapered off, but the roads were still a mess from the storm that had come through the other day. Sam set a plastic shopping bag down on the table before shedding out of his jacket and tossing it over onto the bed. Dean followed him into the room a minute later, kicking the door closed behind him, startling Sam, and then he strode over to the kitchenette where he set a brown paper bag down on the counter. (He had insisted on stopping at the package store on the way back to the motel.) From the bag, he pulled out two six-packs and a bottle of whiskey. Everything went into the fridge except for two beers. He headed over to the table and placed one in front of Sam; the other, he took a long pull from before setting it down in front of his own chair.

The older hunter took off his jacket and threw it over onto his bed before pulling out his chair and swinging it around so he could straddle it. "Art time, Sammy," he said as he dumped a box of crayons, a couple of rolls of tape, and a ream of paper out of the plastic bag that Sam had brought in. "Remember how to use a crayon?" he asked with a smirk.

"I think I can manage to stay in the lines." Sam was still irritated that Dean hadn't said anything about the ability to ward the room against Slenderman. (Their short ride to and from the store had been a tense and quiet one.) One of these days, his brother's secrets were going to get either one or both of them killed.

Dean proceeded to tear the plastic wrap off the package of copy paper and handed Sam half the stack and then he began to explain things as he opened up the box of crayons and unceremoniously dumped them out onto the table between them.

"We need to draw what's known as the Operator symbol, like this…" Dean grabbed a red crayon and proceeded to draw a large circle with an 'X' through it on the first sheet of paper in front of him. He took his time, making sure the lines were dark and bold before he pushed it to the middle of the table so Sam could see. "We'll have to tape them up on the walls and leave 'em around the room. I'm not guaranteeing anything, but they're supposed to keep _him _away."

Sam looked down at the sigil he'd seen on the journal pages that he knew were now back in Dean's jacket pocket. He tightened his jaw and nodded. "Yeah, okay." Picking up a purple crayon, Sam began to draw. After he completed a half dozen or so drawings, he glanced up at Dean. "So what's the story on this 'Operator symbol'?"

"I always thought it was a bunch of crap, so it wasn't something I bothered storing up here…" Dean looked up from his drawing and tapped the side of his head with the tip of his crayon. "…hence the 'not remembering' part. I haven't seen it in years." The older man's eyes dropped down to the table then; he pushed a few crayons around, lining them up in a row. "When you disappeared, well, I was desperate and racked my brain, you know. It's supposed to be able to be used to summon him as well as ward against him."

Sam read between the lines. He believed Dean when he said he thought it was crap; they'd come across too many spells and rituals that hadn't worked during their lives. So, yeah, maybe he could forgive the man for not bringing up the symbol earlier. But he was certain everything else his brother was saying _was_ crap…the stuff about not remembering anything; Sam knew Dean better than that. The man had the memory of an elephant; he didn't forget stuff.

"You sure you don't remember anything else?"

Dean slammed the crayon down on the table under his palm and looked up at him. "No, Sam. Nothing. – What's up with the interrogation all of a sudden?"

Sam set his crayon down softly and scrutinized his brother. Aside from the Operator symbol, he knew there was nothing else on Slendy that their dad had found out, but he had to know if Dean knew anything else. He was only looking for other weaknesses the creature might have, things Dean might have thought were no big deal, but might really be something.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean. It just seems like you're giving me the pieces to put together a straw house when you've got the bricks and mortar hidden in the back room. We don't need Slenderman blowin' down the walls on us. We need as much protection as we can get, and that includes anything else you might know."

Dean was silent for a moment and then he picked up his crayon and pulled a fresh sheet of paper over. He drew another Operator symbol, using a little more force than was necessary. "You know everything you need to know, okay?" He picked up the paper and stared at it as if he was Monet or something, making sure his work was perfect. Dean let out a resigned sigh as he looked up from the drawing and met Sam's unyielding gaze. "Look, I know you think I'm keeping stuff from you. If you wanna know the truth, yes, I am. There's things… I've told you the important stuff, everything I know. If there's something I forgot and I remember it, I'll tell you. But you gotta understand, I've had this thing on my ass for a long time; it's messed me up a bit…mentally and physically. He's done stuff I can't talk about with you. Please, Sam, just let it be. Okay?"

Sam watched Dean's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. He nodded. "Yeah, alright. – You know I'm here if you ever want to talk though?"

"I know, Sam."

* * *

A half hour later, the brothers had each worn through three crayons a piece. Each of them was currently on opposite sides of the room taping sheets of paper to the walls and the surfaces of the furniture.

"You think these will actually work?" Sam asked as he taped a sheet to the bathroom mirror.

"Only one way to find out. But if the summoning spell worked, this should, too," the elder Winchester answered from over by the television set. "Hey, you want some lunch? We could order Chinese."

Sam was back at the table, retrieving the last of the pile of paper. They had one wall left to cover. "Sure. You calling it in?"

* * *

The table was covered in semi-empty food cartons. Chop sticks were sticking out of several boxes. Four empty beers bottles sat in front of Dean; three were in front of Sam. What was left of the food had long ago grown cold. With a quick glance at his watch, Dean saw that it was nearing 10:00 p.m. Sam had been on the computer all day (nearly nine hours straight now), silent for most of the time as well.

Dean had taken another nap after eating; he still felt like shit. Another couple of pills hadn't put a dent in things either. He'd also occupied his time by giving his Colt and Sam's Taurus each a thorough cleaning. After that, he sat at the table while his brother researched, mostly doodling, but answering some questions here and there that Sam had. He might have polished off the fortune cookies, too.

During that time, he had given some more thought to what Slenderman had alluded to the other night. Dean could kick himself for being so gullible as to fall for something like that. He felt a lot better knowing Sam was safe now; he couldn't help but think of how things could have ended so much more differently. He still couldn't bring himself to tell Sam everything. As far as his brother was concerned, nothing had really changed. Dean would just have to try extra hard to stay between Slendy and Sam.

Speaking of, there had been no more sightings since late that morning. The wardings appeared to be holding up. It gave them some breathing room, some time to heal.

"Anything yet?" Dean finally broke the silence.

The younger man looked up at his brother from where he was digging through old archives on the internet. He set his pen down and rubbed subconsciously at his wrist. The bruising had turned into ugly shades of yellow and green, edged with the earlier purples and blues. It had been feeling better, but between his unplanned date with Slenderman and the writing he'd been doing all day, the joint was starting to ache again.

"There's a lot out there – seems like everyone has a story – but it's scattered all over the place. I've been able to find a few common elements which have let me narrow it down some. One particular type of being seems to keep coming up."

That piqued Dean's interest. He got up from his chair and padded around the table in socked feet to stand behind Sam, hand resting on the back of the chair. He hunched over and looked at the screen.

"Is that German?" Dean asked, squinting at the current screen.

"Yeah. Lore from 16th century Germany to be exact. Meet der Groβmann."

Sam scrolled down the webpage until a picture of a woodcut came into view. It depicted a mother and father whose small child who was being snatched away from them by a creature who resembled Slenderman less the suit.

Dean leaned in closer to the screen. He knew German well enough to translate some of the words. "Faerie?" He turned to look at Sam. "Sam, that says he's a faerie from the Black Forest. You are _not_ trying to tell me I've been getting fucked over by a faerie all these years…"

"Um," – Sam squirmed; Dean's wording could have been better – "maybe. There's this, too." Sam minimized the window and pulled up another website. "The Romanians basically have a fairytale which tells the legend of what they call 'The Tall Man' as well. Listen to this:

The tall man stood in a clearing, dressed as a nobleman, all in black. Shadows lay over him, dark as a cloudy midnight. He had many arms, all long and boneless as snakes, all sharp as swords, and they writhed like worms on nails. He did not speak, but made his intentions known.

"Sound familiar?" Sam looked up at his brother.

Dean stood up and moved away from the table. Sam shifted back in his chair again and watched his brother as he went to the refrigerator and took out the bottle of whiskey; he heard the crack of the seal on the cap as the man unscrewed it and then took a pull directly from the bottle. Dean coughed and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

_Faerie. A fucking faerie_. _Really? Since when were there such things as faeries? Weren't they supposed to be two inches tall with wings and all that crap? _The whole concept felt foreign to Dean. _"_So you're trying to tell me he's some jacked up version of Tinkerbell without the wings?"

Sam couldn't help but crack a brief smile; his brother had always had a way with words. "Try less Disney; more Grimm."

Dean shifted where he leaned up against the counter. "Don't you think if there were faeries, Dad would have said something? It's gotta be something else," the man finally stated firmly.

"You ever think that maybe Dad either hasn't told us everything – the guy _has_ secrets, Dean – or maybe he just doesn't know about them himself? He's not perfect, no matter how much you'd like to think he is." Sam gave an exasperated sigh as he looked down at the notepad he had next to the computer. He wasn't giving up; he was sure he was right about this. "Look, according to lore, the Fae hide their real names because once you know their true name, you gain power over them. It might be one of the reasons you never found anything on Slenderman, and why he has so many aliases. It keeps anyone from finding out who he really is. – The chances of us ever finding out his real name are probably slim, unfortunately."

"Say what you want, but it's not gonna make me believe in faeries. Sorry, Sam." Dean knocked back another swig of the J.D. in his hand.

"It's funny you should say that."

Dean lowered the bottle, holding it by the neck at his side. "What, that I don't believe in some made up fairytale bullshit? I certainly don't see any 'Happily Ever After' in my future."

"Actually, I'm thinkin' that's your problem."

"What?"

"You _believe _too much." When Dean opened his mouth to contest Sam's statement, the younger hunter held him off. "Hang on. Just hear me out on this, okay? And then I'll explain." He picked up his notes and swiveled around in his chair to face his brother. "These are all things Slenderman has in common with the Fae." Sam began reading down a list he had scratched out during his search. "He kidnaps people; he has many names (keeping his true name secret mind you); he causes sickness in those he encounters; he is able to change form at will; he puts people in a trance or puts them completely under his control; he is visible only to certain people; he can teleport… Would you like me to continue?"

The older hunter tipped the bottle back again. He didn't look at Sam.

"Dude, drinking's not gonna help here. If I'm right, you might wanna be on the sober side of things."

Dean gave a disgruntled growl as he screwed the lid back on the bottle and stuffed it back into the fridge. When he closed the door, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cool surface, eyes closed. When Dean lifted his head, he looked at Sam. "Are you sure about this? He's Fae?"

"It's not impossible. You see the shit we deal with."

Dean came back over to the table and sat down; he massaged his temples, trying to force back the bite of another headache. Rolling his bottom lip in, he bit down on it. The elder Winchester wasn't stupid. If they were dealing with an honest-to-god _faerie_, he had to spill the rest of what he knew. Leaving Sam in the dark was dangerous…for both of them. His brother had mentioned Grimm; Dean had read enough of those tales to know – if that stuff even had a hint of truth to it – that this was some serious shit.

"He screwed me over, Sam, played me like a fuckin' fiddle." Dean picked at the corner of the sheet of paper with the Operator symbol on it that was left on the table; he kept his eyes turned downward.

Sam lifted an eyebrow at the sudden revelation. "What do you mean?" He pushed the laptop aside, waiting for his brother to continue.

Dean looked up then. "It was all part of his game, his grand plan. I didn't realize what was going on until I summoned him…and he said a few things.

"That night we were at the bar Fullerton and I disappeared, he told me he'd been after you since Jess." Sam's eyes narrowed at that, but Dean ignored him; they didn't need an argument right now. "I believed him. I mean, tragedy right? He goes after people who've had something pretty shitty happen to them. I didn't want to admit it, but it made sense. And then you confirmed it when you said you'd been seeing him."

Sam didn't say anything as his mind worked out what Dean was getting to. And then, "So, what you're really saying, is that you would've never told me about him if you didn't think he was already coming after me? Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dean."

"Sam, god…" Dean shook his head and sighed. _Didn't Sam get it?_ "I told you what happened the night before you turned thirteen. I had only been _thinking_ of telling Dad then… It would have been too dangerous to tell you. Now, because I welched on our deal, I gave him free rein to go after you. As I've said before, he knows you're my weakness; he knows if anything ever happened to you…"

He didn't have to finish the sentence. Sam knew. _Dean would break._

* * *

The two men sat silently at the table, each lost in their own thoughts. Dean was still having a hard time digesting what Sam had come up with. _A faerie?_ He couldn't wipe pictures of Tinkerbell and the Blue Fairy out of his head…hot little babes with wings. (Yeah, he'd watched too much Disney in his life; he blamed Sam for that; the kid had had an unhealthy obsession it when he was little…and if you asked Dean, he'd say his brother still did.)

"So, if there's such things as faeries, d'you think Oberon and Titania are real, too?"

"I don't know. I guess." Sam shrugged his shoulders. He was surprised Dean even knew who they were. An involuntary shudder coursed through him. Just the idea of another whole realm like that was almost beyond even his comprehension.

"So what exactly did you mean when you said I 'believe too much'? We never got back to that."

Dean saw his brother tense up. Whatever Sam was going to say, the kid was assuming he wasn't going to like it. And he was probably right.

"The Fae feed off your belief and your fear. You're giving him his strength."

The older hunter lifted an eyebrow and rocked back in his chair, arms crossed. "I'm not scared, Sam."

"Okay, maybe you're not scared of him, but you believe in him."

"Well, it's a little fucking hard not to. The dude's as real as you and me." The front feet of Dean's chair slammed down to the floor. He stood up and lifted his shirt. "You tryin' to tell me my imagination gave me these?" He showed Sam his scars, the ones he knew his brother tried so hard not to ask about since they'd gotten back together. Dean yanked his shirt back down and ran his fingers through his hair as he sat again. "And what about what he did to you?" He waved a hand in Sam's direction. "Tell me, Sam, how's the shoulder? Did I imagine stitching you up?" Dean's tone had picked up a heated edge.

Sam had averted his eyes from his brother's scars. He had figured them out not long after Dean had told him about the Thin Man coming the night he left for Stanford. "That's not what I meant."

"Gee, you gonna enlighten me then?"

"I think it's more that you're enabling him by believing that he has some kind of power, or hold, over you. I know it's hard, Dean, but you're gonna have to confront him, take that power away from him. – It's all in your head and he thrives off of it. – If you can do that, it might just end all of this."

Dean listened to what his brother was saying. Basically, what Sam was telling him was that this was all on him. This was Dean's fault; he had been providing Slendy with the fuel he needed to keep the engine running. Sam was acting like Dean could just turn a key and shut it all down.

What came out of Dean's mouth in response was, "Easier said than done, Sammy." The creature had been a part of his life for the last twenty-two years. He'd always been able to find Dean; hurt him, threaten him... How did one simply ignore something like that and say it wasn't real?

Sam could only watch as Dean got up, stuffed his feet into his shoes, and walked out the door, away from him, away from the protection of the sigils plastered all over the room.

* * *

It was just after 2:00 a.m. when Sam closed the laptop and let out a wide yawn; he had opted to stay up and do a little more research, see if he could find anything else out. Dean had come back not long after he'd run off; he'd just needed time to cool down and sort some things out for himself. (It wasn't unusual for either of them to do that once in a while what with living on top of each other the way they did.) Right now, the man was spread out on his stomach on his bed, out cold; he hadn't even bothered to change out of his clothes. Sam assumed the exhaustion was probably part of the whole coughing, bloody nose, and headache thing Dean had going on. He hoped his brother would get better once they ended this whole crazy situation.

Before Dean had crashed for the night, he had swapped out Sam's bandages for fresh ones. He'd also re-wrapped Sam's wrist at the younger hunter's request. The man had been kind enough not to make any comments about it and Sam was grateful for it.

Sam stood up and stretched, fingers almost touching the ceiling. His eyes stung from staring at the computer screen for too long and he had to work to keep them open. He had to get some shuteye; they were going to finish the trip to Pastor Jim's in the morning and it was late, even for him. (The exception to that was when they were actively out on a hunt.)

Sam rubbed at his bleary eyes as he went to the door to make sure it was properly locked and dead bolted and then he checked the salt lines; they were all still in place. He peeked out the front window after to check on the Impala; the car was covered in a thin layer of snow. – Thank god no more storms were expected in the upcoming forecast. (All total, the area had gotten about eight inches the other night; a few flurries were still passing by.) It was bitter cold outside and Sam was glad that the heaters in this place actually worked. He remembered a few places where he and Dean had had to share a bed for warmth, something that was a little uncomfortable after they'd moved on from childhood to adulthood.

Satisfied that things were secure, Sam pulled the curtain back into place and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth and empty his bladder before going to bed.

The press of the warm washcloth felt soothing against his weary eyes as he wiped it over his face. A shower would be nice, but Sam was too tired to make the effort. He and Dean would just have to duke it out in the morning. (Sam knew he'd probably end up with the cold shower in the end, but he couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment.)

The Operator symbol he'd taped to the mirror earlier was still in place, but as he glanced up at it, something caught his attention in the area of the mirror that wasn't covered. Sam lifted the sheet of paper up and looked. His heart felt like it skipped a few beats before it lodged in his throat.

The Thin Man was there; his blank face stared coldly at Sam from where he stood in the dark and shifting shadows of a moonlit forest. (Sam couldn't help but notice that there was no snow there which meant, wherever he was, it wasn't local.) Those nightmarish coils weaved about his body and the hunter shivered knowing the things they were capable of doing.

Sam stumbled back a step, letting the paper flutter back down over the mirror. He hoped Dean had been right, that the sigil was enough to keep the creature at bay.

When nothing happened, Sam wiped trembling hands over his face and let out a shaky breath. "Fuck," he muttered. It didn't take much to understand why Dean was going to have a hard time breaking that connection with Slenderman. Sam was going to have to figure out how to get control of his own thoughts as well. The wound in his shoulder throbbed, reminding him of how very powerful the creature was. As Dean had said, letting go was easier said than done…

Sam was halfway out the bathroom door when it happened. He heard the tear of paper and something wrapped itself tightly around his waist…and then it began pulling. The hunter knew what it was without having to look. Slenderman had gotten through; the sigils didn't hold.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled as he reached out and grabbed a hold of the door frame to keep from being dragged towards the mirror and into that netherworld of Slendy's. His grip began to fail as the creature continued to reel him in without abandon.

Sam's handhold finally slipped and he was wrenched back towards the sink. "DEAN!" he shouted again as his hand shot out to grab a hold of anything, but the best he managed to do was pull the shower curtain down with a loud racket. Sam glanced over his shoulder and saw another arm stretching in his direction.

Just then, there was a blur of motion in front of him and Dean came crashing into the too small room. The hunter had a knife in his hand and he slashed out at the creature's tentacle, causing it to cinch even tighter around Sam's waist, making the younger man cry out. The second coil that had been aimed at Sam redirected its path then and lashed out towards Dean.

"Shit, hang on, Sam!" Dean dodged the deadly appendage as he climbed up onto the vanity and got between Sam and the Thin Man. He took a brief second to look through the mirror, even reached a hand out to test it. There was no resistance; his fingers went right through it. It was now some sort of portal to Slenderman's realm. The creature was a good fifteen feet or so out from where the hunter was.

As he pulled his hand back, another of Slendy's snake-like coils shot through the mirror and looped under and around Dean's shoulder. The hunter slipped on the vanity and fell hard, catching his knee on the faucet; he yelped as pain flared through the joint.

"Goddammit!" Dean shouted as his knife clattered to the floor and landed by the toilet. He moved to get himself upright, but didn't make it far when another appendage snapped out, whip-like, and looped around his other shoulder. "Fuckin'-" Dean's breath was suddenly knocked out of him as he was flipped over and then found himself being dragged towards the mirror. He threw his hands out, grasping out at the outer edges of the mirror.

"Dean!" Sam tried to get to his brother to help; he just barely managed to grab a hold of the man's ankle, but a fourth limb came at him and locked around his right arm. Sam was thrown to the floor; his head connected painfully with the tiles and he groaned. He was held down tightly and was helpless as he watched Dean fighting desperately against Slenderman's fury.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again.

The older man's head and shoulders were already through the mirror – his grip on the frame had slipped – and the rest of him was slowly following. The hunter locked his legs down as the backs of his knees hit the edge, but it wasn't enough.

Dean managed to lift his head up and make eye contact with Sam, green eyes flashing. "Sam, you get this son of a bitch!"

And then he lost his hold on the mirror and was gone.

As soon as Dean was through the portal, the arms around Sam released their hold and retreated to their owner. Sam followed as quickly as he could, but by the time he was on his feet and reaching out to the mirror, it had sealed itself off; his palm met with glass.

"NO!"

He slammed closed fists down on the vanity in defeated frustration.

What the hell was he going to do now?

**_To be continued..._**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** I hope you're still enjoying this. Thank you for for your patience and sticking with me. Between a death in the family and my hubby breaking his leg on Thanksgiving, RL has been keeping me quite busy. I was ahead on this fic by several chapters, but now I'm fighting to keep up with my posting schedule. I'm still looking at a total of 10 chapters when all is said and done.

* * *

If anyone is interested in the source info for der Grossman and The Tall Man references, you can refer to these sites:

'creepypasta dot wikia dot com/wiki/The_Slender_Man'  
'theslenderman dot wikia dot com/wiki/Slender_Man_in_Mythology_and_Culture'

I've compiled so much info from all over, but these are the main sources. (The quote Sam reads to Dean about 'The Tall Man' is from the first, and the list of things Slendy has in common with the Fae is from the second.) Der Ritter is also another name (sort of) for der Grossman, so their legends are melded together.

* * *

Please remember to leave comments. They are much appreciated :)


	9. Chapter 9

***CHAPTER 9***

* * *

_…August 29, 2002…_

A shifting and churning mass of gray and black eclipsed the sky as the late summer storm settled in overhead. A flash of lightning set the heavens ablaze; it was followed by the bone-jarring crack and low rumble of thunder seconds later. The sudden and violent sound of nature's fury woke Dean up with a start. He had been curled up on his side under a spruce, the long needles of the tree forming a makeshift bed underneath him. The wounds in his side and shoulder were throbbing without mercy, causing him to cringe when he shifted position. _Well, at least I didn't bleed to death overnight._ Part of that made him wonder if it was such a good thing. Something told the hunter that this visit with Slendy wasn't going to be a joyride.

"Things just keep getting better and better, don't they?" Dean muttered as the heavens opened up and rain started pounding down all around him. The tree would keep him dry for a few minutes, but the ground was quickly becoming saturated under the sudden downpour.

And hell, it wasn't exactly safe to be under a tree during a thunderstorm either. Dean chuckled to himself as he crawled out from under the ages old pine. Wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if he got taken out by lightning after all was said and done?

Dean's stomach rumbled along with the thunder; it reminded him all too well of how long he'd been out in these godforsaken woods. He had no way of knowing what time it was, but judging by the lack of daylight, it wasn't close enough to dawn.

He would've paid to have his jacket right now. It wasn't cold out by any means, but within minutes, Dean felt like a drowned rat; his booted feet splashed through puddles that were quickly forming on the ground as he moved along in the darkness.

On a whim, Dean pulled his cell from his pocket and flipped it open. In the dim glow of the screen, his eyes widened in surprise. He had reception. The hunter tried to keep his fingers steady as he dialed his dad. After half a ring, his call was answered.

"Dean? Son, where in the hell are you?" His father's voice crackled disjointedly over the line; Dean was having a hard time hearing him over the din of the rain.

Dean hunkered down, trying to keep the phone dry as best as he could. Large drops of water ran through his short hair, creating rivers which were running down his cheeks and also down the back of his shirt.

"Dad, listen to me. I don't know how much time I have." He spoke loudly into the phone, hoping the man could hear him. "I'm in the woods, not some kiddie park either. I covered miles yesterday and still can't see an end to 'em. Wherever I am, it's raining, like goddamn pissin' cats and dogs…thunderstorm, Dad. I'm hurt, but I think I'm okay for now."

"Dammit," John cursed. It wasn't raining anywhere in New York state. In fact, the region had been suffering through a drought for most of the latter half of the summer. "I'll check the weather maps, try to pinpoint where you are. – D'you have any weapons on you?"

"Afraid not. My gun-"

"I got-" White noise broke in, interrupting the man's words. "-gun. It was-" More static. "-on the ground where you…disappeared. Dean-" Static. "-the fuck happened? It was like you were-" Even worse static now. "-but there was nothing there."

"It-" The connection went silent, flickered, and then came back. "Dad?"

"Dean?" Dean could hear the man, but just barely.

"Dad?" he yelled a little louder.

"I'll find-"

And that was it. The connection cut out and went to pure static.

"Fuck! Son of a bitch!" Dean snapped the phone shut with a little more force than necessary and stuffed it back into his sodden pocket. At least he'd gotten some info to his father. It gave the man something to track him by.

_"Dean."_

"Oh, fuck, no."

Dean wiped the water out of his eyes and squinted out into the trees. He couldn't see for shit through the sheets of rain. And then a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and he saw the creature's silhouette in the near distance.

_"Yes, my child. I have returned."_

"Would it hurt your feelings if I told you I didn't miss you while you were gone?" Dean didn't expect an answer; he wasn't let down.

_"I will not allow your actions to go unpunished. Are you ready to begin your lesson, Dean?"_

Now that Dean knew where the creature was, he started to move away from it. It was hard to keep his eyes on the thing with the rain getting into his eyes, but he managed somehow. But his heel got caught up on something – a root? – and he stumbled. It was just enough to make the hunter take his eyes away from _him._

When Dean righted himself, Slenderman was mere feet in front of him. "You know what? You keep talking about some punishment, some damn lesson… Well, what're you waitin' for? I'm right here. Let's see what you've got."

The Thin Man was silent; Dean heard nothing in his head. The sudden lack of anything disturbed him and he risked another step backwards. The being just continued to stand there and stare.

"Okaaay, then," the hunter muttered as he continued to move back another foot or so, testing whatever limits the creature had set up.

_"You cannot run, my hunter. You cannot hide. I will always know where to find you."_

Dean heard the warning echo in his mind, but it didn't stop him. There were only so many words they could volley back and forth before something untoward happened. In all the years he'd known Slendy, the being had never inflicted more than what was equal to a harmless paper cut – not counting the mental damage – but the hairs on the back of Dean's neck bristled. Something told him that was about to change. If he was right, he wanted to be the one to make the first move.

He turned and ran.

Dean didn't make it more than a handful of strides before he felt a familiar pain lance through his back. His steps faltered as he let out a shout of pain, and then he staggered to his hands and knees in the mud as the blood-slickened appendage pulled out of him with a sickening squelch.

His shoulders shook with every ragged breath he took. Dean lifted his hand up to the new wound; it was just under his collarbone, too high to have punctured a lung. Again, not something that would kill him, but it hurt like a mother fucker.

Slowly, Dean pushed back up to his feet, right hand pressed against his latest injury as he swayed unsteadily. He squared his shoulders and turned to face his foe, face whatever 'lesson' he had coming to him.

But he was alone.

And the rain continued to fall.

* * *

…_Present Day…_

Sam took a few shaky breaths. He looked around the bathroom at the aftermath. The door was hanging off-kilter (he couldn't remember how that had happened); the shower curtain lay in a crumpled pile at his feet; most of their personal items had been knocked off the counter and onto the floor from his brother's struggle.

And then he saw the handle of the knife Dean had used peeking out from under the toilet. Sam stooped down to pick the weapon up from the floor. It was then that he saw it wasn't the man's prized buck knife, the one he kept under his pillow, but one of their iron knives.

Iron... Sam thought back to how Slenderman's grip on him had tightened when Dean had cut into the creature with the blade. "Shit," he muttered with realization. The Thin Man was Fae; the Fae were susceptible to cold iron; it was a commonly known fact in their lore; they weren't insuperable. Obviously, Dean had remembered that. It hadn't killed Slenderman, but it had wounded him.

The hunter returned to the main room where he took his Taurus out of the drawer of the nightstand. He proceeded to deftly empty the clip of its standard rounds and went to the weapons bag where he pulled out a small box of consecrated iron rounds. Quickly, he reloaded his gun with the new ammo and then tucked it at the back of his waistband.

Sam kept the iron blade at his side as he went over to the table and got his laptop up and running. While he waited for the computer, he checked his phone, made sure it was fully charged and that the ringer was turned up. There was always the off chance that, if Dean got away, he'd call like he did the last time.

The exhaustion from earlier was buried deep under the current rush of adrenaline traveling through his veins. Sam knew he would end up crashing once the high of it wore off, but he'd do what he could before then. Dean was counting on him.

* * *

Sam's fingers twitched as he woke up. He blinked his eyes and shifted in his seat, sitting up from where he had been hunched over at the table, and wiped at his mouth where some drool had escaped during his sleep. As his vision cleared, he swept his unruly hair out of his face and rubbed at the pins-and-needles sensation in his left arm; it had fallen asleep under the weight of his head.

As the fog of sleep began to dissipate, the hunter suddenly sensed that he wasn't alone in the room. The feeling became reality when a soft tinkling sound was heard from the direction of the bathroom. Sam slowly reached over and closed his fingers around the knife sitting next to the laptop before turning around in his chair.

He was startled to see a creature resembling Slenderman standing there, its back to him. Sam watched as it reached out towards the mirror with a gloved hand and ran its fingers over the smooth surface. The being was clothed in much the same fashion as the Thin Man, but the suit it was wearing was peppered with a colorful array of polka-dots. It was also wearing a damn top hat.

_There was another one? _Sam must have made a noise, however slight, because _it_ suddenly turned to face him.

"Holy shit," Sam muttered in shock when he saw its face; the knife fell from his hand to the floor as he fought the instinctive urge to get up and bolt.

And then it tilted its head, flickered, and disappeared.

* * *

Dean's stomach rebelled against him and he rolled over onto his hands and knees just in time to lose the contents of his stomach. His head throbbed incessantly as he wretched, fingers curling into the loose soil beneath him. After what felt like an eternity, he spit on the ground trying to remove the bitter aftertaste; he eyed the red tinge of blood in it knowing that couldn't be a good thing.

He literally felt like he was dying.

When he felt he had no more to give, the hunter collapsed back onto the ground, throat burning and chest heaving as he tried to draw in fresh air. A cough erupted and he groaned as his – broken? – ribs shifted. For the life of him, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, wherever here was, or even how he'd apparently gotten injured.

It was dusk. Long shadows stretched and loomed over him as he lay there staring at the darkening sky. Twin moons – one crescent, one full – shone brightly amongst the stars. _That is so not right, _he thought to himself as another cough shook him. Carefully, he forced himself to sit up and take in his surroundings. – He spit again, trying to clear more phlegm from his throat. – Clearly, he was in a forest, but _where _was he? The last he knew, Earth didn't have two freakin' moons.

It shook him up pretty badly that he couldn't remember what was going on. It was like there was a great, gaping hole in his mind. Something had happened – he knew that much – but the specifics were lost to him. His short-term memory was gone. The last thing he could remember was heading into Fullerton to check on some mysterious murders at an old factory.

Dean pushed up from the ground weakly, feeling his body tremble as he did. He stared with a slight frown down at his feet for a moment. He had no shoes on. As a matter of fact, he was only in a t-shirt and jeans. _Really, what the hell?_ Even dressed as lightly as he was, Dean felt like he was on fire; the heat of a fever burned relentlessly through him. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt this bad, not even when he'd had a wicked case of the flu last fall and he'd been left behind at a motel in some backwoods town in Alabama while his father had gone off to take care of a werewolf all on his own. (Dean would have given his left arm to have been in on that hunt. C'mon, a werewolf? Who'd want to miss out on that?)

As he looked off into the trees, he thought about his brother. Where was Sam? Was Sam okay?

"Samm-…" his voice cracked as another raging cough took over, causing him to hunch over, hands on his knees. "Sammy," he whispered hoarsely.

He took a stumbling step forward…and then another. After his third step, the hunter bumped into an unseen barrier of some sort. "What…?" Dean reached up and pressed his hands against the invisible wall. It had a fuzzy feel to it and when he touched it, the hairs on his arm stood on end. And there was no give to it whatsoever. He shifted over a few feet and found more of the same.

Dean looked around and quickly picked up on the fact that he was standing inside a ring of white toadstools. He frowned as he knelt down and drifted a finger over the soft, velvety cap of one of the mushrooms; it didn't feel any different than any other mushroom, not that he made a habit of feeling up fungi. Just to see what would happen, the hunter pulled it out of the ground and chucked it aside. Before he'd even brought his hand back, another one grew in its place. Dean's green eyes widened as he watched the new growth appear.

Standing back up, the hunter swept his foot through a portion of the ring, tearing the mushrooms from their moorings. As soon as he pulled his foot away, more magically reappeared.

"Awesome."

_"How are you, Dean?"_

Dean jumped as the words formed in his mind. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Although he was sure he should know who it was.

"Who…?"

_"I know, my child. It took a lot out of you to bring you here. But soon you will remember."_

"Whoever you are, I'm gonna-" A cough cut into his words, disrupting his threat. "-kick your fucking ass when I get outta here." The dizziness now mostly gone, Dean began to pace the perimeter of his magical cell like a caged animal. The sickness that was pressing in on him was forgotten for the moment.

A bone-chilling laugh reverberated inside his skull. _"Even like this, you are entertaining. But, as your people say, all good things must come to an end eventually…even you."_

The hunter stopped then and glared out at the trees, looking for his unseen keeper. He put both hands flat against the barrier and gave a shove. There was absolutely no give.

"Goddammit!" he growled.

The threat meant nothing to him. Whatever was blocking his memory had better give soon. And Sam better damn well be okay.

_"Rest. I will return once you are healed."_

* * *

What had disturbed Sam the most were its eyes…and that wide, grinning mouth, features that were lacking on Slenderman. A certain childhood phobia surfaced and the hunter swallowed thickly. It took several minutes of trying to stem his irrational fear of clowns before Sam could actually move. _That _– whatever it had been – had _not _been a clown.

Once his panic had had a chance to subside, Sam checked his watch; it was just after 9:00 a.m., nearly seven hours since Dean had been abducted. And he had just slept probably about four hours of that away. Guilt gnawed at him, but he tried to suppress it. He knew he was no good if he was too tired to think. (Both Dean and Sam had fucked up on a few hunts in the past because they hadn't given themselves the time to rest.)

His late night research had yielded absolutely nothing; he had no more to go on than what he and Dean already knew. Sam had one thing to fall back on though and it, by far, wasn't a solution, just a quick fix.

The hunter pushed his chair back and stood up. He looked around the room, eyes traveling over Dean's belongings until he spotted his brother's jacket. Sam was going to summon Slenderman. If it had worked for Dean, it would work for him.

* * *

Dean's jacket was draped over the arm of the couch. Sam strode across the room and quickly felt through its pockets.

"No…nononono…Shit!" he cursed as he tossed the jacket back down on the couch.

The journal pages were gone. Dean must've taken them out and hidden them away again; that's if he hadn't destroyed them. "Dean, c'mon... Where are they?"

The older man's duffel bag was up against the wall near his bed and Sam hefted it up onto the bed. First, he checked the side pockets. He found a few coins, a condom, two business cards, and some notes from their last job, but no journal pages.

He unzipped the bag itself and shook out Dean's clothes. On a normal day, his brother would kick his ass for going through his stuff, but Sam really didn't give a shit right now; he needed those journal pages.

It didn't take long to fish through everything. He flipped through their father's journal: nothing. He checked the pockets of every flannel, t-shirt, and pair of jeans that were in the bag: nothing. He rummaged through the folded boxer briefs and sifted through the man's socks: nothing. He even went so far as to check the bag for any hidden compartments – they didn't call Dean a professional for nothing; he wouldn't be surprised to find a false lining in the bag – but nope: zip, zilch, nada.

"Dammit, Dean! What the hell'd you do with them?"

Sam shoved his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath as he looked around the room. Dean wouldn't leave something that personal tucked under the mattress or stashed beneath a floorboard. They always kept their stuff close just in case they had to make a quick run for it. Sam's eyes landed on the keys to the Impala.

"Son of a bitch. The car." Sam shrugged into his jacket and grabbed the keys from the counter. A second later, he was out the door and popping the trunk of the Impala.

He began to search through the hidden compartments. (Lord knew they had enough of them.) When Sam came up empty-handed, he checked back over his shoulder to make sure no one was around before he lifted the false bottom and revealed the hidden weapons compartment. He shuffled the weapons around, opened a few wooden boxes where they kept smaller specialty items like silver bullets and hex bags. Nothing.

By the time he was done sifting through the trunk, Sam's hands were red and raw from the cold air. Desperation was in full swing as he quickly shifted everything back into place and closed the trunk lid. All he had left was the passenger compartment of the car.

The door opened with a loud, protesting groan and Sam slid in behind the steering wheel. He flipped the visor down: nothing. He leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and reached in to pull the pile of registration and insurance papers out (all fake, of course). He leafed through them and muttered a quiet curse.

_Did Dean have the journal pages on him? _It was more than possible.

There were a few more places in the car he could check and Sam forced back the growing panic. Backing out of the car and getting down on his knees, the hunter reached up under the driver's seat and pushed his fingers up into the foam and in between the tight coils; the tips of his fingers brushed against what felt like paper. He grunted when something cut into his palm, but he kept digging until he got a hold of what he hoped were the missing pages.

And sure enough, as he pulled his hand out, the old, taped up pages were what he had found. Sam was careful not to get blood on them from the small cut on his hand as he raced back into the room where he pulled out his notebook. He still didn't want Dean to know that he'd found their father's notes. He'd make a quick copy of the ritual and then put the pages back where they'd been. Dean would never know. If asked about the summons, Sam would lie and say he'd found it on his own.

Sam kept his attention off of the first couple of pages; there was no point in reading those again. It hurt bad enough just knowing the words were there. He went directly to the last page. As he copied the notes over to a fresh sheet of paper, Sam worked on memorizing all aspects of the ritual. Nowhere did it say that it had to be done in the woods, but he would follow his brother's lead, head back out to the same park Dean had gone to.

When he was done, Sam made a hurried trip into the front office of the motel and reserved the room for another few days. (He didn't know how long they'd need it for.) After, he carefully tucked the journal pages back up under the seat of the car just as he'd found them.

* * *

It only took a few minutes to reach the preserve. Sam's memory of the place was little more than vague – he'd been nearly unconscious for most of the time he'd been there – but he kept moving, following a trail he thought Dean would've picked out. He stopped walking when he caught sight of an Operator symbol carved into a large tree. Sam couldn't help but smile upon learning he'd picked the right trail. (It was scary how much he and Dean thought alike at times.) It had to have been what Dean had used to summon _him._ At least Sam wouldn't have to waste time with unnecessary woodwork.

Sam checked to make sure he still had the iron blade at his belt as well as making sure his Taurus was still secure at his back. Now that there was an unknown player in the mix, he had to be ready for anything.

"Alright, you bastard. I want my brother back. And then I'm gonna kill you."

The words to the ritual had been easy to memorize – it was more or less a child's rhyme – but he had tucked his notes into his back pocket just in case. He took a few steadying breaths before pressing his cheek up against the sigil, much like Dean had done the other day. Sam closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he worked on finding his center which was just as important to these types of rituals as the actual lines were. And then Sam began to speak the words to bring Slenderman to him.

The hunter was about halfway through the chant when a laugh erupted from over his shoulder. It startled him, causing Sam to stop what he was doing and spin around on his heel. His eyes widened and he stumbled into the tree at his back. It was the creature that he'd seen back at the room, not Slenderman. It couldn't have been the Thin Man; he hadn't even come close to finishing the ritual.

The being stared at Sam with large, unblinking eyes.

"You…" Sam began, stunned. His hand automatically slipped under his jacket and shirt at the small of his back. The solid feel of his gun was reassuring.

"It doesn't work." The voice was light and airy, almost pleasant.

Sam shifted back, trying to put more space between himself and _it_. He couldn't be sure if it was talking about the summoning ritual or his gun. _Did it know about his gun?_ "What doesn't work?" he asked as he thumbed the safety on his weapon anyway.

"Why, that, of course!" An obscenely long arm swung up gesturing to the sigil behind Sam's head. "We can hear it, but it doesn't work, not the way you think it does."

Sam didn't know whether to be relieved or not. The creature didn't know he had his gun, but still, he needed the ritual to work. Dean's clock was ticking; he had to do something. "I need to get to my brother. There's no other way but this."

"Well, as I said, that won't work." The creature tittered, causing Sam to bristle. He didn't have time for this.

Through clenched teeth, Sam grit out, "If you know so much, then why don't you tell me what _will_ work."

"Would you like a flower?" From out of nowhere, a daisy appeared in the being's hand and was offered out to Sam.

The hunter felt like he had whiplash from the sudden change in subject. "No, I don't want a damn flower; I want my brother back!" he yelled as he shoved the thing's hand aside. Sam knew it probably wasn't the smartest thing to piss off something he didn't know anything about, but well...he himself was getting more than irritated. Patience wasn't a word in Sam's vocabulary when Dean's life was on the line. "Why are you here? What do you want?" He still didn't know how the creature had found him.

It moved away from Sam then and began a little jig. _Seriously? How do I always end up with the crazies?_ The short dance ended a few steps later. Sam watched as the creature held up a fisted hand and a red balloon began to fill just up above its fingers. It drifted up into the air and floated away on the cool breeze.

"I am looking for someone. You might have seen him. – About yay high." The creature grew in size until he was maybe twenty feet tall, bending at the middle like he was made of rubber, and then shrank back down to his original height of seven or eight feet.

"Do you mean Slenderman?" Sam dared to ask.

"Yes, that's him. My elusive little brother." Sam was struck speechless. _This thing and Slenderman were brothers? _That meant this creature was also Fae. Shit.

"That's why you came, why I saw you at the mirror?" Maybe he could use whatever this creature knew to his advantage. Maybe this creature could help him.

"Right-o, kiddo!" It threw its hands up into the air happily and confetti rained down on Sam.

"The bastard took my brother," Sam growled as he dusted the small pieces of paper from himself. His feet were starting to get cold even as the sun rose higher in the sky; it continued to remind Sam that time was passing by too quickly.

The creature tucked a thumb under his chin and rubbed at his lower lip with a gloved finger, almost in contemplation. "Ah, yes. Dean…" he said after a while.

That caught Sam off guard. He _knew _he hadn't mentioned Dean's name. "You know about Dean?"

"Why, he is my brother's most prized possession, has been for quite some time." The creature looked off into the trees and appeared to reflect on something more. "The poor thing… I will never understand why my brother must do the things he does. He can be somewhat…cruel."

Sam fumed. "If you know what he's done… Fuck! How could you just let him do that shit? What he's done to my brother…"

"What would you have me do, human?" The words came out with a little less flair.

Sam moved away from the tree, took a few steps closer to the being. He let go of his hold on his Taurus and dropped his hands to his sides where they tightened into fists; his nails dug into his palms. "I don't know," he huffed in exasperation. "But if he's your brother, there's gotta be something you can do."

The being's head tilted and Sam expected him to just disappear like his sibling, but he didn't. Instead, his eyes slowly drifted over Sam, considering him. Sam saw the moment its eyes landed on the knife at his side. He watched as the creature's posture stiffened and its smile lessened. "You are a hunter." The words came out on a quiet hiss; Sam couldn't be sure if it was directed at him or not.

"Yeah." There was no point in lying.

"And Dean is as well." It looked back up at Sam.

It was more of a statement, but Sam nodded. "We both are."

"Hmm… That is interesting. It is something he's kept from me. – I see my brother has hurt you." The creature reached out and caressed Sam's shoulder with a crooked finger, causing him to flinch. "But there is something about you. You are different; I can sense it. Has he been able to get into your mind?"

Sam thought back to the vivid nightmare he'd had only a couple of nights ago…the barren landscape beneath him as he hung from the tree branch…and, god, the vultures as they tore at his flesh. He shivered.

"He has. I can see it in your eyes."

"It was just a dream. I've had worse."

"Be happy that he cannot do more. Few are able to block him as you can. – Dean, for instance, he has not been as fortunate. My brother will not let him go willingly."

"Then help me, please," Sam pleaded. Silence hung in the air between them as the hunter waited for an answer. He shifted and blew into his cold hands, trying to warm himself, and then he sniffled. After the silence wore on for too long, he bluntly asked, "Well, can you help me or not?"

"I cannot."

Anger filled the young hunter; his cheeks flushed with rage. "Then what the hell are you doing here? Dean could be out there…dying. And you?" He gesticulated furiously with a hand. "You're just dancing around and handing out flowers and balloons like his life doesn't mean anything. Why? What's the point?"

The creature's face became serious all of a sudden. "Because I need your help to find my brother_._"

**To be continued...**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** Yay! We're in the home stretch. Someone needs to tell Mother Nature to stop making it snow. Instead of concentrating on writing, I've been forced to shovel every other day since hubby is laid up with a broken leg until mid-January. Ugh. Oh, well. I'm just going to keep doing my best :)

Please remember to leave comments! They're like hot chocolate on a cold winter day!


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry for the delay :( As I've mentioned before, RL has been going bonkers lately and I haven't been able to concentrate on this fic. I had the end of it written last week, but my beta yelled at me and said it was too rushed. (I had to agree with her.) So...now I have a total of 11 chapters instead of 10, and I've re-worked the whole thing between Sam and Slendy's brother.

I hope you enjoy. Please remember to let me know what you think. Chapter 11 will go up VERY shortly. It's all edited, but my beta pointed something out that needs to be tweaked. As soon as I can work that out, I'll have it posted.

**Warning: **Please review the original warnings at the beginning of Chapter 1 before reading the August 30th, 2002 flashback. Nothing is graphic, but I wanted to warn you.

* * *

***CHAPTER 10***

* * *

_…August 29, 2002…_

Dean was weakening. He stumbled through the forest, pressing forward against the pelting rain. The blood loss and lack of sustenance was wearing on him. He had thumbed his cell phone open several times, checking for reception, but there was none. The last time he had done so, the device finally went dead, the battery giving up whatever ghost it had had in the first place. He had no choice but to keep moving and cross his fingers he'd make it out of this more in one piece than not.

He hadn't seen _him_ since the wee hours of the morning, but Dean jumped at every shadow, every movement caught from the corner of his eye. Between the overcast sky and the thick foliage up above keeping what little light there was out, he'd had plenty of false starts. Once or twice, Dean was positive he'd seen _him _looming in the near distance.

The creature's last words echoed in his head as he hunched his shoulders and continued to trudge on through the never-ending line of pines, maples, oaks, birches, and what have you.

_"You cannot run, my hunter. You cannot hide. I will always know where to find you."_

* * *

Somewhere around what Dean could only guess was late afternoon, he had taken shelter under a low, rocky overhang; it wasn't quite a cave, but close enough. (It would at least get him out of the rain for a little while.) He'd had to take off his boots; his socks were soaked and his feet were swollen and aching from the non-stop miles of walking. A steady stream of water cascaded down the wall at his back. Where it touched the ground, it ran in a small rivulet off to Dean's left and followed a cleft in the rock down to a shallow pool. Dean was thirsty and he eyed the shimmering puddle, tongue darting out subconsciously to wet his lips, but he wasn't sure if he was desperate enough yet to start drinking rainwater…close, but not quite.

All he had to do was wait this out until his dad found him; Dean was sure he would. John Winchester could find the needle in a field full of haystacks if he had to. And when the elder Winchester found him, Dean knew he was going to have some explaining to do. He didn't like the thought, but he'd cross that bridge when he got there.

* * *

As he waited the storm out, Dean peeled out of his water-logged t-shirt so he could inspect his injuries. They were red and mean-looking; it was sheer luck that the one just below his kidney hadn't taken out anything internally. If it had, he was sure he'd be long dead by now. Slendy had lashed out at Dean with surprising accuracy; there was a surgical-like precision which even impressed the hunter. If he lived through this, he'd have a few new scars to tell stories about…or not.

Each one of his wounds had been in-and-out. The wet weather had kept them from scabbing over properly and a thin sheen of crimson shone below each one on his pale, freckled skin. If Dean was going to be honest with himself, they were all going to need stitches.

He looked down at the wet shirt beside him on the ground; the thing was trashed. (Another favorite t-shirt destroyed by some creature. He seriously needed to stop wearing them.) Dean picked it up and started tearing thin lengths of material off the bottom. He needed something to bind his injuries and it was all he had. When he was done dressing his wounds the best he could, Dean tugged the remainder of his shirt back down over his head being careful not to strain too much.

With a heavy sigh, the hunter looked back out into the gray and dreary forest; the torrential downpour had finally let up some. Now it was just a steady and depressing drizzle. He debated on whether or not to continue to make his way through the trees or stay put. They always said if you were lost, you should stay in one place. But Dean wasn't lost; that line of thought didn't quite apply to him. If anything, he should keep moving. A moving target was much harder to take out than one that sat there stupidly waiting for the hit.

Pressing his thumb and forefinger into closed eyelids, he tried to rub away the sting of weariness. He'd gotten two, maybe three, hours of sleep last night and it was wearing on him. As he rubbed his hands over his face, he mumbled into his palms, "This so fucking sucks, man."

Dean began to wonder what would have happened if he had just played it out with Slendy instead of trying to take out the creature like some amateur hunter rushing in with no clue what he was doing. _Dean was better than that_. At worst, he might have been able to walk away with a few grim pictures of people dying or something, half of which he wasn't even sure were real – he'd long gotten over freaking out about them, even the ones of Sam; Dean had seen a hell of a lot worse working jobs with his father – or maybe a few bruises or some annoying taunting or threats…the usual bullshit.

Yeah, maybe he'd lost it a little bit, but, dammit, Sam had walked away. Dean had been just slightly on the side of messed up and it was purely bad timing; he'd let his emotions get the better of him. _Was that what had drawn the Thin Man to him this time?_ Sam walking out was nowhere near as tragic as their mom dying, but it had felt like someone had reached into Dean and had torn away a piece of him when he'd watched Sam walk down that dirt road. It had felt like the end of Dean's world.

Now that Dean gave it some thought, as he'd gotten older, Slendy's appearances seemed to coincide with highly emotional times in his life. If that was true, this one took the cake.

Dean was pulled from his ponderings when a shadow shifted in his peripheral vision. The movement came from just outside the lip of the shallow overhang, but even as close as he was to it, Dean couldn't see its source. Quietly, the hunter slipped his boots back on and shifted to move farther back into the protection of the cave.

His eyes followed the movement of the dark shape on the ground and his breath caught in his throat when he blinked and suddenly saw a pair of shiny dress shoes. Shit. Slenderman had found him.

Dean's mind had no sooner made the connection before one of the creature's razor-edged tentacles looped into the cave, blindly reaching out for him. He managed to dodge it and grunted when the back of his head collided with the rough stone surface above him. – Dean was just over six feet and the cave was maybe five feet if he was lucky. – Another of Slenderman's deadly appendages followed the first and, between the two of them, they had masterfully herded Dean into a corner.

_"Dean, I told you, you can't hide. Now come out, child. It is time for your lesson."_

"Yeah, I don't think so," Dean said as he tried to slip past the snake-like coils and escape from the other end of the overhang. When an opening appeared, he decided to make a break for it.

Dean looked over his shoulder as he slipped away; there were three more of the tentacles seeking him now. He smirked as he turned and…stumbled directly into something – or someone – that felt just a little too familiar. The hunter immediately reversed his course and backpedaled away from the towering creature as it watched him.

_"You cannot run."_

Well, Dean tried anyway.

He grunted after several steps when something impacted sharply with the center of his back, throwing him from his feet and onto the ground. A sudden numbness spread through him and then, as his nerve endings began to catch up with what was going on, it turned into a white-hot pain. It flared through his chest and wrapped around him, encompassing him. As his body began to fall, Dean felt another tearing pain in his left side.

When he looked down, his watery eyes caught sight of the two lengths of dark flesh protruding from his torso, one in the vicinity of his diaphragm and one just above his left hip. As his body buckled beneath him, Dean thought for sure that he was dead – might have even hoped so for a split second – but the thunderous pounding of his heart raging in his chest told him otherwise. He should've known Slenderman wouldn't be so kind.

_"Mine."_

Dean's world went dark.

* * *

_…August 30, 2002…_

It was just past midnight, but Dean had no way of knowing that; the full moon overhead lent an eerie glow to the forest around him. He blinked his eyes and tried to move, but found that he couldn't. He lay spread-eagle on the cool forest floor, wrists and ankles bound tightly to what he could only assume were four stakes nailed securely into the ground.

Slenderman hadn't killed him; the pain and stiffness from his two latest injuries reminded him only too well of that. The 'why' of it concerned him a bit as he twisted in his bindings; there was no give and they held tight. "Son of a bitch!" Dean lifted his head to see what options might be open to him. "No… C'mon!"

Dean had been stripped of his clothing; he was as naked as the day he was born. And his nemesis was standing a few paces away from him down near his feet.

His mind reeled in panic when something he'd read years ago surfaced in his mind. _Oh, fuck, no! _The realization caused Dean to pull harder at the ropes holding him down, so much so that they cut into his skin and blood began to slick the thick, coarse fibers. "This is so wrong. You touch me, I'll really kill you next time!"

Slenderman's head tilted, but he didn't disappear. Instead, he moved out of the still shadows, pale face catching in the moonlight. It was the first time Dean had ever seen the creature actually do something resembling human movement as it reached up and loosened its tie from around its neck.

_"I warned you, Dean," _it said as it walked up to Dean's shoulders and stooped down. _"You are mine…a fact which I intend to remind you of." _A cold finger ran up Dean's neck, teased lightly over his lips.

Dean squirmed under the icy and too-intimate touch, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. "Fuck you!" he cursed as he doubled his efforts to escape, ignoring the pain shooting through his torso as his wounds reopened. Because what he knew was coming was much, much worse than a little blood.

_"Oh, in due time, my child." _Slenderman hissed quietly as he stood up once more and dropped his red silk tie to the ground beside Dean's head.

* * *

_...September 9, 2002…_

In the distance, Dean thought he could hear the steady beeping of machines; the familiar smell of antiseptic tickled at his nose. Before he even opened his eyes, he knew he was in a hospital. He had survived; his father must have found him. What that meant, Dean didn't want to think about.

It took effort to climb out of the comforting embrace of medicated unconsciousness. His eyelids felt heavy and when he finally prized them open, Dean squinted against the glare of the fluorescent lights. _Why did hospitals always feel the need to use such goddamned bright lights? _Dean groaned. His body ached all over, but the feeling was lessened somewhat by what he could only guess was a shitload of meds coursing through his system.

"Dean?" his father's gruff but broken sounding voice could be heard above the machines.

"Dad?" The word was rasped out from an overly dry throat.

"Yeah, it's me, son. – Hold on." Dean could hear the man moving around and then he was back; a reassuring hand was placed on his shoulder before a cup was brought up to his lips. "Drink some of this."

Dean followed the order and he drank the ice cold water down greedily. When he was done, the elder Winchester took the cup away and set it down somewhere Dean couldn't see.

"What the hell happened out there?" John Winchester: always to the point.

Dean didn't answer. Instead, he closed his eyes again. A lone tear escaped, unbidden, from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. He couldn't tell his dad what had happened; no one would know…ever.

Dean didn't think he could be broken, but if he wasn't, he didn't know what else to call this.

* * *

_…Present Day…_

"What?" The heated anger that had boiled up in Sam suddenly dissipated and the tenseness in his body fell away. "How do you expect me to help you? I don't even know where they are."

The creature shifted and leaned up against a tree. The 'happy' seemed to have fallen by the wayside for now; his words were serious as was his expression. (Well, really, the only thing that changed in its features was that it was no longer smiling; its eyes remained unchanging and dark.) "If you would just calm down and breathe, I will explain."

"But Dean-" Sam was curious about what the being had to say, but he needed to get to Dean before something happened to him. Too much time had already gone by. With every second that passed, the man could be suffering.

"He is okay for the moment." At Sam's perplexed look, the creature tried to explain. "My brother has no true power over Dean right now because your brother has forgotten. Because he has forgotten, he no longer fears."

_Forgotten what? How was Dean okay if his memory was gone? _Sam's mind flooded with worst case scenarios; head trauma and permanent memory loss were at the top of the list. "What happened to him?" he finally forced himself to ask.

"The journey into our world is, for lack of a better word, _difficult _for one of your kind without the proper preparation. But I promise you, he will be fine given time."

The words 'our world' were the only thing that registered. "The mirror… You mean the forest I saw…"

"Is not part of this world," the sentence was finished for him.

_Shit._ Sam glanced up at the Operator symbol on the tree. Could that even reach Slenderman across the lines of two worlds?

"Stop looking at that. It will not help you…or your brother. – Our kind can answer the summons, but we can also choose not to. I assure you, my brother will not be answering your call. He has no interest in you other than to use you as a way to break Dean." The hunter jumped when a rainbow-striped tentacle reached out over his shoulder and slashed at the carving, rendering it completely useless. "Your connection with your brother is strong; there is nothing more powerful than a blood bond. We can use that connection to locate him. – But in order to do so, you must trust me."

Sam knew nothing about this creature. He had no reason to trust it. The only thing he had was desperation. "Trust you? Seriously? How do I even know you're on my side?"

"I am not on your side" was the response.

* * *

The sky brightened overhead as dawn approached; small, unseen creatures began to stir as they awoke to the beginning of a new day. Dean was sitting on the ground, one leg outstretched in front of him, the other bent at the knee; his head rested against the 'wall' at his back. He was still just as clueless as he was when he first became aware of his surroundings. And he was growing restless.

He hadn't heard the disembodied voice since it had gone away. In a way, it was a relief, but it kept him guessing at his current situation. Whoever the voice belonged to had the advantage; that was obvious. He knew Dean…and apparently wanted him dead if Dean had heard him correctly. That, in and of itself, should be cause for concern, but the hunter didn't let it bother him. If the Winchesters had a nickel for every threat against their lives…

The grass Dean was sitting on was warm beneath him. (He could at least be thankful that it wasn't winter wherever this was.) As the sun breached the horizon, he saw that things were different here, brighter…sharper. The green of the leaves and grass was rich and vibrant, almost oversaturated; it took some time for his eyes to adjust to it. Dean's eyes watered when he looked up at the sky and he was thankful for the dense foliage for once.

For a while, he paced restlessly, and then he kept himself occupied by picking at the seemingly never ending supply of toadstools. Dean watched in frustrated fascination as they re-grew, one after the other. He must have picked hundreds and yet, for every one he picked, another grew back in its place. After that, Dean swore to himself that he'd never eat another mushroom again; he didn't care what Sam said.

A butterfly landed on the tip of his socked toe. It was the size of a small bird and, if Dean thought the flora was interesting, the fauna was something to behold. – Again, Disney came to mind. He wouldn't be surprised to see some Disney princess come skirting out of the trees singing. – The insect was brightly colored in an array of sapphire blues, deep violets, ruby reds, and golden yellows. The hunter wiggled his toe, sending the creature into the air again where it flew through the magical barrier that was keeping Dean imprisoned.

He had taken notice earlier that the mushrooms he uprooted could be tossed through to the other side as well. It seemed that Dean was the only thing the wall was impervious to. He let out a weighty sigh.

"Sam, dude, you better get my ass outta here before I die of boredom." He couldn't remember, but he hoped Sam knew where he was.

* * *

At the creature's admission, Sam tensed again and this time he drew his gun. If it wasn't on his side, then there was only one other side: not his.

"Who are you really?" he snapped out through clenched teeth, muscle flexing along his jaw and eyes narrowing in suspicion. "How do I know you're not _him_?"

It frowned at Sam. Something about its facial structure changed slightly, but before the hunter could discern what it was, it was gone.

"Do not insult me, human child," the being hissed, his voice carrying a threatening undertone. "Clearly, you do not know who I am."

"No. How would I?" Sam conceded as he kept his eyes locked on the creature, watching for any sudden movements; his finger remained lightly pressed against the trigger of his Taurus. "All I know is your 'brother' is a psychopath who's been torturing Dean for over twenty years. How do I know you're not just like him?"

"Let me fill you in and then we can get back to what's important." The being pushed off from the tree and his 'happy' came back. He took his top hat off and bowed deeply to Sam. Once he stood back up, he said, "Let me introduce myself. I am the Splendorman, Slenderman's half-brother, if I may." A laugh followed his words and he put the hat back on before he produced three balls – red, blue, and yellow – and began to juggle them. He spoke as he grew and stretched, throwing the spheres into the air as he did. "I am the one who likes to make children happy, deserving children that is. If they've done a kindness, I like to return the favor."

Sam looked on, almost forgetting the seriousness of the situation. The balls whizzed up into the air trailing colorful tails of light like little comets. After several tricky moves, Splendorman sent all three up at once and they each popped and sent fireworks exploding overhead, causing Sam to jump. Confetti rained down on him from high above.

"I am not my brother," it continued on as it shrank back down to a less intimidating height. Splendorman held two fisted hands up in front of him and balloons appeared from the white gloves, each drifting up and floating away as he released them. "You will not come to harm by me, Sam."

Smile falling away again, the creature began to explain to the hunter what was going on. "Slenderman, my brother," he shook his head sadly, "he has always been a bully. I can't 'fix' him, but I can try to keep him in line when he decides to 'play'."

"Well, you haven't exactly been doing a great job of it," Sam said as he thought of what had happened to Dean…and himself, and now Dean again.

The creature's eyes narrowed momentarily at Sam, causing the hunter to close his mouth. "It's not easy, certainly when he is so embedded in someone's mind as he is Dean's. But I stopped him three years ago, Sam, before he killed your brother. – I'm sorry I wasn't able to get there sooner...before _things_ happened." Splendorman's expression changed to one of regret. "I tried, but the power he draws from Dean is too much at times; he was able to keep me away."

_Splendorman had been there?_ Sam's arm was growing tired from holding his gun level with the creature in front of him and he lowered it.

Splendorman fell silent for a moment as he watched Sam's movement; the corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile when he saw the hunter relaxing slightly. "I've been observing, trying to keep my brother in check since he first picked up on your family, back when Dean was just a small child…and you, an infant, the night your mother died."

Sam's brow lifted at that. "Then how come we've never seen you before?" He still couldn't help but be wary given his background as a hunter.

The Fae shrugged nonchalantly. "There was no need for it. – Do not mistake me as being Dean's savior; I am here for my own reasons. You and I, we just happen to have need of one another."

Not that he wasn't happy to have a little help, but Sam really needed to know. "If he's back in the realm of the Fae, why can't you just find him? Why do you need me, a lowly human? – And hell, why did he even bring Dean there in the first place, especially if it weakens their bond or whatever like you say?"

"Ah, so you know we are Fae? I congratulate you, Samuel Winchester, for getting so far." Splendorman's pleased clap was muffled by his gloves. "It's more than most have accomplished in eons. You've managed to put the pieces together. I should have known you would; you are such an inquisitive soul.

"The answer to your question is complicated. Something has happened recently and it has increased Dean's fear tenfold, making my brother more powerful. I need to find out what that 'something' is in order to get him under control again. We need to get to Dean while their bond is weak. And that is where you come in.

"Our realm is a place of enchantment; Dean can be in plain sight, but still be hidden from others. Your connection with your brother will help guide us to him. – As to why Slenderman has taken Dean there in the first place, I cannot be sure, but I think he fears you. Not only can you block him, but since you've figured out what we are, you also know our weakness; therefore, Dean does, or I should say, did until now. But most importantly, you are your brother's strength.

"Dean is weaker on his own, Sam. I know my brother, and he would be willing to risk a few hours or days – whatever it takes for Dean to gain back his memory…and his fear. I know not what his plan is for Dean at this time, but I would gather that it would not be good for any one of us if he accomplishes what he has set out to do."

A sudden thought occurred to Sam and his eyes darkened. It sounded a lot like Splendorman's personal well-being depended on taking out Slendy's power source: Dean.

Almost as if it had read his mind, the creature spoke up. "I am not the evil creature you are trying to build up in your mind, Sam. All I need to do is persuade Dean to let go of his fear; I only need a few minutes with him. As I said before, no harm will come to either you or your brother by my hand."

Sam wanted to laugh at that. _Did Splendorman realize how stubborn Dean was?_ A few minutes? Hell, he might need hours. But it was something. If this creature could get Dean to let go, then it was worth the risk.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"We need to cross over, but first, you will need to let me in."

"Let you in…" Sam repeated. He knew what that meant and it unnerved him more than a little. It was the exact opposite of what he had been telling Dean to do. They had to take power away from these creatures, not give it to them. This Fae, whom Sam knew nothing at all about but what he'd been told, was asking him to give him that power.

The hunter swept his fingers through his hair in exasperation and then strode off ten feet back down the path behind him while he gave his situation some thought. After several minutes, he still had no idea what he was going to do. Sam turned around and walked back up to the being.

He wasn't comfortable at all with the idea. He still wasn't sure what this creature actually wanted. "What exactly are you going to do when we get there?" Sam asked.

Splendorman eyed the hunter. "I am not going there to kill my brother if that is what you are thinking." The being took its hat off and flipped it over. He reached in and pulled out a white hare. After giving it a few strokes across its back, he placed it back into the hat and put it back on.

Sam's eyes were drawn to the black top hat and then he looked back up and met Splendorman's gaze. "Then I'll do it," he said with heated conviction. He thought back to the journal pages detailing the injuries his brother had sustained at the hands of Slenderman. _God, Dean had dealt with that all alone._ Yeah, their father had clearly put it all together, but Sam knew neither man would have spoken to the other about it. Dean would have denied it and John would have looked the other way, also in denial. It didn't change anything though. Dean had been raped. "He's a monster."

This time, Sam did see the creature's face shift and change shape. What he saw caused him to back off a step or two and bring his gun back out. His aim was steady as the almost white skin darkened to a brownish-black and Splendorman's face twisted and elongated into a wolf-like visage; fangs flashed under the afternoon sun and its eyes shone a deep, bloody red. The tentacles that were normally kept hidden made their presence known over its shoulders, weaving and twisting. "Do not test me," it growled, voice low and deadly.

Sam swallowed tightly and steeled himself against the sudden fear that crawled under his skin at the sight of the creature in front of him. He was a hunter after all; he was trained not to show weakness. "Then I guess we're both on our own then." He took in a breath and turned on his heel, putting on a show of actually leaving. "Like you said, I'm inquisitive; I'll find another way." Sam was bluffing. Although he didn't want to admit it, he needed Splendorman.

Something vaguely resembling the soft jingle of a bell sounded behind Sam – it was the same sound he'd heard back at the room – and it caused him to still. He heard it again just as something – a tentacle – slipped around him and physically turned him around.

"Your love for your brother is strong." The creature studied Sam intently, head cocked with interest, as he released the hunter from his gentle, but firm hold, the long, snake-like appendage disappearing behind his shoulder. Splendorman was now back in his former, less frightening form.

Sam's brow creased at the sudden and unexpected change in Splendorman's mien. "I would give my life for him," he replied truthfully.

The being gave Sam's response some thought, and then, "I will not promise you anything, but I will do what I can."

It was enough for Sam. He nodded. "Thank you."

A smile lit up Splendorman's face at Sam's thanks. "Well," he said in an excited rush, "it's up to you when we leave, but I suggest we do it soon. As soon as Dean remembers, I'm afraid I can no longer be of help. It will be too late for all of us."

One thing kept Sam from jumping onboard immediately. "What about my memory? You said-"

"I will protect you, Sam. Now, if you are ready, we must not waste any more time." Splendorman opened his arms wide and beckoned Sam into them.

Sam felt what could only be considered a mental nudge; he hoped he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. He knew damn well if Dean was here, the man would rip him a new one for even considering what he was about to do.

"Yeah, okay." He stepped into the creature's embrace.

**To be continued...**


	11. Chapter 11

***CHAPTER 11***

* * *

Dean had made acquaintance with a handful of different forest creatures as he sat there and waited impatiently. It seemed that the local critters had taken a liking towards him. (Currently, something resembling a small deer was grazing at the far end of his 'cage'.) What Dean hadn't seen were any people.

What or whom he was waiting for, he didn't know. Whether it be his unseen captor, Sam, or hell, even their father at this point, he didn't care. – Peter Pan could come save his sorry ass for all he cared. – He just wanted out.

Dean wrapped his fingers around a handful of grass. He yanked it out of the ground, the dirt from the small bundle of roots falling into his lap. As he stared down at it, Dean wondered if plants felt pain. And then he chuckled to himself. That was something his nerdy geek of a brother would ask. He chucked the clump of greens aside and dusted his fingers off on his leg. As he did, Dean narrowed his eyes when a slight pain flared up behind his right eye. He tried to shake it off – his headache had been one persistent son of a bitch – but it didn't let up; it only got worse. Suddenly, it exploded like the goddamned Fourth of July, the pain becoming so intense that it sent Dean down to the ground where he curled into the fetal position.

The 'deer' that had been so gracefully chewing on bits of grass fled at the sound of his anguished cry.

* * *

Sam wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he did his best to relax his mind and let Splendorman delve in and do what he needed to do. He could feel his most intimate memories being poked and prodded at. It was like the creature was grasping at the connection he and Dean had. It was uncomfortable letting someone in like that, but he didn't have a choice.

For a split second, Sam felt Splendorman's concentration break, his touch slipping. During that brief moment, he could almost _feel_ Dean. Something was happening to his brother, something not good. Sam's heart rate began to race. _"Dean!"_

_"He is starting to remember,"_ he heard Splendorman's voice say in his head. _"We must hurry."_

The creature's 'touch' suddenly felt different; there was more pressure and then something broke. Pain flooded Sam's mind; he tried to hold back, but he cried out as he felt the arms around him tighten.

And then the world tilted and fell away.

* * *

The pain lasted less than a minute, but it took Dean several more to gather himself afterwards. Slowly, the lines of tension on the hunter's features relaxed and Dean's breathing evened out. His heartbeat steadied and he risked opening his eyes.

That was when he realized…his memories were sliding back into place.

They weren't all there yet, but he was remembering bits and pieces of a motel room, not the one in Fullerton but another; he was remembering diners and the open highway. He remembered Sam being hurt, remembered stitching him up, but he couldn't remember _why_ he had been stitching him up.

He pushed himself up with shaky arms and sat back, rubbing at the lingering ache behind his temples. The hunter began to dig at that dark, empty void in his mind. Dean knew there was more there, but the center of it all was still eluding him. Whatever it was, he knew it was important that he get to it.

* * *

Sam would have fallen to the ground if not for the tight hold Splendorman had on him. But he still had to keep his eyes closed for a moment longer until things settled into up and down, the sense of vertigo fading slowly. He wasn't sure if he was more shaken up from the trip or the Vulcan mind meld he'd just endured.

"Sam." It was the Fae's voice, soft and comforting. "Are you well?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. But I don't think I'm gonna want to do that again for a while."

The tinkle of several bells sounded and Sam felt Splendorman's tentacles releasing their hold on him. The hunter was embarrassed that he actually had to hold onto the creature a moment longer until he felt he had his sea legs under him.

"We're here, Sam. Turn around."

Sam squinted at the brightness of their surroundings. Faerie land. Everything was surreal, too perfect. But he didn't pay much attention to the alien world because not more than a few hundred feet away, he saw Dean. The man's back was to him, so he hadn't noticed them yet, but it was definitely the elder Winchester. And he looked okay, albeit a little pissed. (Sam could see that from the set of the man's shoulders.)

"Does he remember anything?" he asked, worried about how much memory Dean had actually lost.

"I cannot say. The passage affects everyone differently. – Come, we must hurry. I can feel my brother's nearness." Splendorman reached out and took Sam by the elbow and pulled the young man towards Dean. It didn't take much persuasion to get the hunter moving.

* * *

Dean kicked angrily at the toadstools. The rest of his memory was there; he knew it. He was so damn close, but it just wouldn't surface.

The hunter yelled out and swung a fist into the side of his prison in frustration. And, _fuck_, that hurt.

"Dean!"

Dean's right eyebrow lifted at the familiar, but unexpected voice calling to him; his moss green eyes widened as he turned his head. "Sam?"

The younger hunter was moving through the trees; he was shadowed by some kind of creature. It was tall and spindly looking, topping Sam's sasquatch height by at least another foot or two. And the fucking thing had a polka-dot suit on with a freaking stovepipe hat.

"Dean! Are you okay?" Sam picked up his pace as he crossed that final distance to Dean's cage.

"No, Sam, stop! Don't come near it." Dean raised his hands up and pressed them, palm side out, against the unseen barrier. "This thing's a one-way street for us; there's no exits, dude." All he needed was for Sam to get his lanky ass stuck in there with him; then they'd both be screwed.

"A faerie ring," the tall creature commented when he came to a stop next to Sam. "He's right, Sam. It's best if you don't go near it."

"Can't you break it?" his brother asked the creature.

"It can only be broken when the moons are up." It looked up and considered the position of the sun. "They will not rise for several more hours."

Dean watched as Sam glanced between the stranger, himself, and the ring of off-white mushrooms encircling him. Whoever/whatever this thing was, his brother seemed to trust it. "Hey, I hate to break up the May-September bromance you two've got brewin', but does someone wanna tell me what's going on? It seems like my memory's been hijacked."

The comment received a much missed bitch face from his brother. But before Sam could offer an explanation, the creature stepped around Sam and approached him.

"I've come here to help, Dean," it said.

"Really?" Dean eyed the polka-dots and attempted to suppress the sarcasm that was lingering at the tip of his tongue. Maybe Sam didn't have a problem working with something that looked like a circus freak, but Dean certainly did. "Well, since I'm still stuck in here, I'd say Cage: 1, You: 0." Well, okay, maybe the sarcasm won. He was only human.

The being looked at Dean, its dark eyes piercing, almost unsettling. "I need you to let me in."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. The blue flower pinned at the creature's lapel drew his attention briefly before he looked up to meet its steady gaze. He didn't get what the thing was asking for. "What, you wanna come in here? Sorry to disappoint you, pal, but you're not exactly what I'm looking for in a bunk buddy."

"Dean, really?"

Dean snapped his gaze over to Sam. "What? He asked if he could come in. What else am I supposed to say? He's your friend. - And I don't know, Sammy. I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what you bring home. Seriously?" Dean backed away from the 'wall' and crossed his arms over his chest, still not sure what to make of things.

"Dammit, Dean! He's here to…" Sam clammed up suddenly and then looked to the creature again. He appeared uncertain, almost a little worried. His apprehensive look got Dean's attention. The kid was hiding something.

"Sam, what aren't you telling me?"

"Just let him in, okay?" Sam pleaded.

"Dude, where?" And then Dean felt it, something in his mind. He blinked and looked at the tall creature; it was looking intently at him. He shook his head, feeling violated all of a sudden.

"Dean, calm down. You have to let him do this." Dean heard Sam's voice, but it was being drowned out by white noise which began to fill his head. Another round of pain was starting to claw at his mind.

"Get…outta…my…head!" The hunter's words were slurred as he fell to his knees. It felt like something was shredding his brain. He barely heard Sam's acquaintance saying something about it being too late…an apology. Dean cried out as a bright, white light flashed behind his closed eyelids.

"Dean!"

* * *

"Sam, you must listen to me," Splendorman spoke calmly even as Dean continued to cry out and writhe on the ground. "Sam!"

Sam reluctantly pulled his eyes away from his brother. The man was in pain and there was nothing he could do. "What?" His jaw was slack, anxiety filling his hazel eyes. It was killing him not to be able to go to Dean, to help him through whatever was going on.

"I believe I have found out what is keeping them connected."

"Wait, what?"

Sam didn't think the creature had had enough time to do what he needed to. He quickly glanced at Dean who was now pressed up against the inside of the invisible wall, shoulders heaving as he panted. The man's fingers were clenched tightly in his short hair. Sam could hear soft, pained whimpers – fucking whimpers for crying out loud – falling from between the his lips.

"He's scared, Sam. He needs to rid himself of that fear and take control of the situation. Once he does, he will be able to sever the link my brother has created between them. If he cannot do so, then there is no hope for him."

That made no sense at all to Sam. Dean had said he wasn't scared of Slendy and he believed him. As a matter of fact, the older hunter had put himself out there to protect Sam. He was here, in this position, because of Sam. Then it clicked.

"Oh, god." The words came out on a whisper. "He's scared for me…"

Sam looked over to Dean. The man was still crumpled in on himself; he looked so small and fragile. When he turned his worried gaze back up to Splendorman, the creature nodded.

"Christ. What can I do?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid. It's up to Dean to overcome this. Come, let me show you something while there is still some time yet. It may help if you see what I'm speaking of." He removed the pristine glove from his left hand revealing more pale flesh and lifted his unnaturally long fingers up towards Sam's face. "May I? It will not hurt."

Sam chewed on the corner of his lip, but hell, he was in this deep already. Why not? "Do whatever you need to."

The hunter watched the Fae's hand move toward him until the cold, dry fingers alighted gently upon his forehead. Contrary to the coolness of the lengthy digits, Sam could feel warmth spread into his skin beneath their touch; a mild tingle accompanied the sensation.

"There," Splendorman said as he pulled his hand away moments later and slipped his glove back on. "It's temporary and will wear off shortly, but it will allow you to see."

Sam was just starting to open his mouth to ask about what he was meant to see, but he wasn't gifted with the time to ask.

The smile fell from Splendorman's face all of a sudden and his features became pinched. "It is too late. He is here." The Fae lifted a hand up to the side of his head and stumbled slightly. Sam instinctively reached out to help steady him, even if the creature was closer to eight feet tall than to Sam's six and a half.

_Shit!_ The hunter turned his head to scan the shadows; they seemed to have lengthened in just the short time since they'd arrived. He didn't see anyone. Briefly, he glanced over to Dean. The man was still in the same position as he'd been in since going down. Not good, but he was still alive and breathing.

"Are you-"

Sam's question fell off when he looked back up at the creature next to him; his steadying hand, which was still on the being's arm, immediately reached around to the small of his back, grasping for his gun.

Slenderman was there alright. And Sam was staring up at him.

Gone were the colorful polka-dots; gone were the mouth, the eyes, and the absurd top hat. _What the fuck? _Sam's mind was trying to catch up with what was blatantly right in front of him as he brought his gun up and level.

_Splendorman was Slenderman?_ No, they couldn't be; they were too different. Sam couldn't – wouldn't – accept that. But his hand had been on the creature the whole time. It's not like one left and the other just showed up. It wasn't possible.

Another second passed and it only took that brief moment for the hunter to understand what was happening. They were two beings rolled into one; the good and the evil; the hot and the cold; the right and the wrong; the safe and the deadly.

Splendorman had needed Dean to conquer his fear so he could keep Slendy at bay. It was a battle of wills – and power – and Dean was the Thin Man's ace in the hole, so to speak. Dean's fear was allowing Slenderman to overcome the essence that was Splendorman. The evil was able to force down the good.

Since Slenderman was back, that meant...

"Sammy?" Dean's weak voice came from the faerie ring.

Without thinking about the consequences, Sam turned to look at his brother. He could see Dean was still out of it. Whatever had happened had put him through the wringer. As he was taking in the older hunter's current state, Sam's gaze fell to a delicate thread of glittering silver running directly to the man. _Okay, now what the hell is that? _His eyes followed the length of it across the space between them; it ended at Slenderman.

The link. It was a goddamned physical connection. Splendorman had been talking in literal terms.

* * *

Dean's memories came flooding back and the intensity of being hit with them all at once had him nearly blacking out. But, god, he remembered everything now. Slendy had come back. But why? What had caused him to show up all of a sudden? The last few times he'd seen the creature, it had been due to some emotionally charged situation, like Sam leaving for Stanford. Nothing like that had happened recently.

The gears in Dean's brain churned through the events of the past couple of months. He'd been running non-stop since their father had disappeared. Dean had selfishly pulled Sam back into the fray to help look for the man and, because of that, the youngest Winchester had nearly gotten killed…on several occasions, the last of which had almost been at the hands of a goddamned shifter – one that had taken Dean's form, no less – down in St. Louis.

Dean had been balancing precariously on the narrow edge of a precipice lately with his emotions, his footing less than steady. Hell, he might as well have just sent an invitation out to Slenderman, giving him a time and place to meet up.

When he finally pulled himself together, Dean looked up from where he had been huddled on the ground, curled in on himself like some wrecked and broken thing; it was discomfiting, a hunter like himself to be in that position. And his damn head, it was still pounding with the same relentless headache he'd had for days now. Awesome.

His self-pity instantly fell away when the scene around him shifted into focus. Sam and the Thin Man were standing outside of his cage – _Where had the other guy gone? –_ and his brother looked more than a little shaken up as he held his Taurus up between himself and the creature.

Dammit. What the hell was Sam doing with a gun? They'd gone over this. _Guns don't work!_ But then Dean saw the iron dagger tucked in the younger man's belt. Sam had figured it out. Dean suddenly knew then that those weren't regular rounds in the Taurus. But it was still too dangerous. They didn't know for sure that cold iron would work.

"Sammy…" Dean meant the put a little more force behind the name; he wanted to tell the younger man to run, to get out of there, but his energy was sapped. He just needed some time to pull himself together, time he clearly didn't have.

Upon hearing his name, Sam turned to look at Dean and their eyes locked briefly. Then his brother frowned and a look of curiosity spread over his tense features. Sam's gaze left Dean as he appeared to be looking at something that Dean obviously wasn't seeing.

Whatever it was, Dean didn't have time to try to figure it out. Slenderman was too close to his brother and he wasn't about to sit there helplessly as the creature ripped the kid apart…or worse. He pressed up to his feet, only his willpower keeping him upright, and he began push and hammer at the wall of his prison, trying to draw the Thin Man's attention away from Sam and towards himself. "Hey, Chuckles! Over here!"

It worked. Dean could feel _its_ gaze shift to him and he shivered.

_"Dean, my child, I am pleased to see you are feeling better." _Dean couldn't help but jump when the words slipped so seamlessly into his mind; the insincerity of the statement was only too evident._ "You've gotten your memory back, and it didn't take long at all. That's good."_ Slenderman might not have a mouth to smile with, but Dean could feel the twisted glee.

Dean didn't bother replying. Now that he had its attention, he yelled to his brother. "Sam, you gotta get outta here!"

"No, Dean!" Sam did take several steps away from the Thin Man though. Even for the most experienced hunter, too close was too close.

Dean let out an exasperated groan. Sam was showing the true Winchester colors.

_"Dean, this is the end, don't you see? It will all be over soon."_ Slenderman adjusted his gaze from Dean to Sam, and then back. The creature hadn't moved, but Dean could somehow tell that that's what he did. _"I will break you, piece by piece, starting with him, and then I will kill you." _The voice felt cold and lethal in Dean's head.

"Dean, listen to me. Splendorman-" At least this time Sam was keeping his eyes on the Thin Man. Unfortunately, it didn't help with what happened in the next instant.

One of Slenderman's tentacles lashed out before Sam could finish what he was saying. It wrapped around the barrel of his gun quicker than the hunter could react. Sam barely got his left hand over to his right to fight to keep his hold on the weapon as it suddenly discharged in the scuffle, its report deafening. The shot went wide as the weapon was torn from his grip and then was thrown aside, far out of reach.

"No!" Dean's furious glare met with the creature standing in front of his brother as he threw himself into the barrier preventing him from going to Sam's aid; he ignored the pain that blossomed along his side. "Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!"

Another snaking arm stopped in midair, the end of it still weaving slowly back and forth over Sam's head, its threat looming. Slenderman slowly tilted his head and looked at Dean. _"My brother, what has he told you?"_

Dean's eyes shot over to Sam. The younger man was ducking down, left arm raised over his head in protection. _That thing had been Slendy's brother?_ _Shit, what did Sam know?_ "Nothing. I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Sam risked a look at Dean from under his arm. "Dean, what's he-"

A tentacle snapped out and grazed the thin skin of Sam's neck, causing the younger hunter to yelp in surprise. _"Do not lie to me!"_ The Thin Man's other writhing appendages were starting to look agitated.

Dean tensed when he saw the bright crimson trickling down his brother's neck. Slenderman was toying with them. The creature knew there was nothing they could do. It didn't even bother trying to restrain Sam who was wiping at the blood oozing from his wound with the back of his hand.

There was no right answer. Dean couldn't give the Thin Man what he wanted. And because of that, Sam was going to pay the price. He slammed the side of his fist into the wall and huffed out a defeated breath. "I don't know… C'mon, just let him go. You've got me."

_"Oh, but that would be no fun, Dean."_

* * *

Sam saw the fear in Dean's eyes. And this situation wasn't helping matters. He had blinked and his gun was gone, tossed aside to the ground too far away to get to. Sam was about to get his ass handed to him…again. How was he supposed to get Dean to get a grip now?

From the look his brother had given him earlier, the thread/link wasn't visible to Dean. If Sam understood Splendorman correctly, the only way his brother would be able to see it was if he manned up and took control away from Slendy.

The hardest part in all of this was going to get Dean to stem his fear so he could get that control, something which the elder Winchester was perfectly capable of when he was in hunter mode; the man was a force to be reckoned with when he was in that mindset. Dean was going to need a shove in that direction. Sam knew his brother would kill him when he found out – there was no question of 'if'; Dean _would_ find out – but that didn't matter, not right now.

The creature's attention was still on Dean for the moment. Sam took advantage of the distraction, dropping his hand down to his side. His now bloody fingers clasped around the handle of the iron dagger and he drew it out, keeping his eyes focused on his foe and the six tentacles weaving dangerously above its shoulders. – Sam's neck stung like a bitch, reminding him all too well of what they were capable of. – He began to talk as he tried to figure out how to get Dean where he needed to be.

"Dean?" he called out.

"What, Sam?"

"You remember what I said back at the room?" Sam asked as he kept an eye on Slenderman, not sure when the creature was going to lash out at him again. He expected it at any second. Sam could tell it didn't want him and Dean talking, but he had to take his chances.

"Which part? You said a lot. And really, this isn't the best time for a conversation, dude."

Sam watched the Fae in front of him. He wasn't sure which was easier to look at, Splendorman's face-splitting grin and dark, penetrating eyes or Slendy's faceless and empty mask; they both had their downsides.

* * *

_"Sam came so willingly, Dean. The connection you two have is unfathomable. It will be my greatest feat tearing that asunder as you watch Sam die before your eyes; you powerless to stop it."_

Dean tried to concentrate on Sam even as he shivered from the threat. Slenderman could threaten him all he wanted, but not Sam.

"Fuck off," he grumbled to the creature as he tried to keep his concentration on Sam.

"Dean!"

His brother was intent on having this conversation, whatever it was. "What?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sam, I'm trying to, but he's in my damn head."

_"I'm going to start by tearing out his liver, his heart-"_

"Dean!"

_"-and you're going to watch. When I'm through with him-"_

"Dean, listen to me. You gotta take his power away. You have to-"

_ "-I'm going to render you to pieces. Remember our last time together Dean? That was only the beginning. I have so much more planned for you."_

Dean was trying hard to listen to Sam, but Slendy kept pushing into his head; he was having a difficult time paying attention to two conversations at once. If he didn't know better, he'd think the Thin Man was trying to keep him from hearing what his brother had to say. Whatever Sam knew, it must be pretty damn important.

He forced himself to look at his brother. "How, Sam? I told you I'm not scared of him. The only thing that's scaring me is him hurting you. And right now, Sammy, I gotta tell you, it ain't looking good."

"Then you need to take control!" Sam yelled over his shoulder as he took a fucking step _towards_ the creature. _What the hell was he doing?_ "Be a hunter, Dean! Do what you were trained to do!"

Sam's movement – or his words – set Slenderman into motion. Before either Winchester could blink, a thick coil speared into the thick muscle of Sam's thigh. Sam cried out as he stumbled to one knee and Dean hollered as he watched his brother go down.

"Sammy!" Dean's skin flushed with fury. And it wasn't just directed at the Thin Man. He knew Sam wasn't stupid. His brother had put himself out there for a reason, and now he was at the mercy of that thing. "Goddammit! You leave him alone, you son of a bitch!"

"Dean, you have to sever the link between the two of you," Sam ground out through gritted teeth as he tried to breathe through the pain. "There's a- Fuck!" He screeched as the tentacle in his thigh twisted, slicing further into muscle, effectively cutting him off. Wide, pain-filled eyes met with Dean's. But something else was there, too…a glimmer of knowledge.

That look confirmed Dean's suspicions. "Sammy!" _Fuck, Dean was gonna kill Sam when they got through this, pulling crazy shit like that. That was Dean's job. _Dean could only look on helplessly as another looping coil wrapped around his little brother and began to constrict like some giant freaking anaconda.

"Dean! – You- – _Shit!_ – You have to cut it!" Sam was being lifted from the ground now; his breaths were coming in short bursts as he fought for air against Slenderman's crushing grip. He fought, but his strength was no match for the creature.

Yeah, okay. Dean could do this. He could take the power away from Slendy. All he needed was a plan. Yeah, that was all. Simple as pie. "C'mon, Dean. Think, man. Pull yourself together," Dean said to himself, taking deep breaths and gathering himself. The only time he'd ever really gone up against this thing, he'd lost…and he'd lost badly. If he was going to get them out of this, he was going to have to dig his heels in…hard.

Dean was trying to figure out what Sam was going on about. _What link? _The kid was talking like there was something actually connecting him to Slendy, like they were tethered together somehow. Dean frowned in thought. His eyes fell down to where Sam was looking earlier; there was nothing there, not that he could see. Anyway, this was Dean's deal. How could Sam see something Dean couldn't? Unless the creature Sam had been buddy buddy with earlier, Slendy's brother, had done something…which now that Dean thought about it, was entirely possible. Sam was Sam after all; he'd pulled some weird shit off in the past.

But it didn't matter if Sam had figured things out, not if Dean was stuck in this godforsaken cage. – Dean didn't even realize it, but he was pacing angrily back and forth along the wall closest to Sam as he weeded through the meager info he had at his disposal. – The answer to his problem was soon delivered to him on a silver platter. Well, actually, it landed right at his feet.

"Dean!"

Dean looked up from where he was studying the mushrooms at his feet, wishing for laser vision to fry them all to hell, only to see Sam still struggling against Slenderman's tight hold. The glint of the iron blade in his brother's hand caught Dean's eye. Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, Sam tossed the knife in Dean's direction.

Dean watched as the weapon slid across the ground and nicked a couple of the toadstools before coming to rest, half in and half out of the 'wall' of the faerie ring. Where it stopped, he could see what could only be described as a fissure in the unseen barrier. Dean almost smiled. _Leave it to Sam and that big geek brain of his to figure that out._

Not wasting any time, Dean stooped down to pick up the knife. He had to work a little at getting a grip on it to pull it through; his thick fingers had a hard time getting a hold of the tiny bit of blade sticking out on his side of the barrier. He ignored the sharp pinch of pain when the well-honed blade sliced into his index finger. With a growl, he finally got a good enough grip on it and tugged it through.

He hacked at the mushrooms quickly, trying to ignore the tacky feel of Sam's blood coating the handle, and Dean allowed himself to grin as the wall started to crumble. Apparently, cold iron worked on all things Fae. He was going to have to keep that in mind for future use.

"De-!" Sam's voice was choked off as Slenderman tightened a coil around his neck. His long legs kicked out beneath him, blood soaking the denim of his right pant leg.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean forced down his personal emotions and slid into hunter mode. His expression hardened as he forced his concentration on the monster and not Sam. Slenderman was just like any other evil piece of shit. If Dean could take him down – and he would – this whole affair would be all over. Dean had to draw in the reins and put an end to this.

"Hey, you!" Dean yelled as he strode brazenly out of the grassy circle of his former confinement, trying to draw the Thin Man's attention away from his brother once more. It worked. Slendy slowly looked over Sam's shoulder at Dean. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, asshole. This ends now."

_"My child, you cannot harm me. As long as you fear me, I have won."_

"Yeah, about that… You can shove your 'fear' right up where the sun don't shine." Dean felt Slenderman press against his mind. This time he smiled because he knew what the creature was going to find: the strength and fortitude of a hunter, something Sam had to remind him was still there, even in the presence of the Thin Man. Dean wasn't going to let Slendy control him anymore. "Yeah, all these years I let you drag me around like an obedient little puppy on a leash, but I've got you figured out. The leash has been in my hand the whole time. I control you. _You have no power over me!"_ And, god, if saying that didn't make him feel like he was in a cheesy Jim Henson movie.

_"NO! YOU ARE MINE!"_

With those words, the creature viciously tossed Sam aside – Dean heard the solid hit his brother took as he collided hard with a tree and landed in a still heap on the ground – and then he struck out at Dean.

"Not anymore," Dean growled. He was ready for the attack and slashed out at several tentacles as they surged at him. Slenderman never made an outward sound, but Dean could hear the scream of pain in his mind every time the iron blade connected with flesh and he relished in the sound. "I'm not gonna let you hurt me or Sam anymore. This is over now." He side-stepped one of the lengthy appendages as it stabbed out at him with an inhuman viciousness. "I'm done with you and your shit." The words fell from his mouth even as he was becoming overwhelmed by the serpentine arms.

A wicked and unsettling laugh filled Dean's head. _"I can't agree with you more, hunter. This DOES end now."_

Dean dropped down and rolled away as the swarming arms became too much for him. He risked a glance at Sam, but his brother was still down for the count. The hunter forced himself to empty his mind of any worry; the only things he allowed in were what Slenderman had done to him over the years. He let his hatred for the creature drive him forward as he launched into another attack.

_"You will always be my favorite, Dean. I will be sorry to see you go."_

Before Dean knew it, a tentacle had lashed out and secured itself around his ankle. It threw him off-balance and he crashed down to the ground, landing hard on his left side, elbow getting jarred in the process as he tried to protect his broken ribs. Three more were reaching towards him as he felt himself being pulled towards Slenderman. He bent over, intent on hacking at the coil looped around his leg when he saw it: a thin filament, almost invisible to the naked eye, caught just right in the light; energy pulsed through it, giving it a life of its own. He couldn't see exactly where the line was attached to him, but it ran from him to Slendy. _A fucking supernatural umbilical cord. Gross, _Dean thought. Sam had said he had to sever the link. What else could that be?

_"Say goodbye, Dean."_

Dean grinned. Yeah, a 'goodbye' was in order, just not the one Slendy was looking for. As one of the looming tentacles darted out to wrap around Dean's neck, the hunter ducked and swung the knife down. "Syanara, mother fucker!" A foul screech filled his head when the connection was cut; the blade slipped from his fingers as he automatically pressed his hands to his ears trying to block it out. The pressure building up in his head was a million times worse than the worst headache and Dean's scream nearly matched that of the one in his skull.

As he fought against the black dots invading the edges of his vision, Dean thought he saw Sam starting to stir. But it was too much and he felt the blessed depths of unconsciousness coming up to claim him.

Dean may have been imagining things, but just before the darkness swept in, he could have sworn he saw a smiling face in front of him…the press of soft cotton against his cheek. "Thank you, Dean," it said quietly as he slipped away.

A few moments later, a shot rang out, but Dean wasn't around to hear it.

* * *

"Hey, Dean. You in there?"

"Leave me 'lone, Sammy." Dean turned over on the bed and pulled the pillow up over his head. When it was yanked away, he rolled over to glare up at Sam. _What was his problem this morning? _"Dude, really. Tryin' to get some sleep here."

"God, they said you were going to be messed up for a while, but… Dean, d'you remember anything?"

Dean tried to process what Sam was saying; the fog of sleep hadn't quite fully lifted yet. _Shit._ He sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Looking around the motel room, Dean frowned.

At Dean's nonplussed look, Sam smiled, but he still didn't offer up anything.

Dean rubbed at his left elbow; it was tender to the touch. What had happened hadn't been a dream then. (He didn't even want to think about the hit his ribs had taken.) One other thing he noticed, too, was that he seemed to be free of his nagging headache and the fever that came along with it. What a fucking relief that was. Dean was literally sick of being sick.

"Sammy, at least give me a clue. How'd we end up here…from there?"

"We did it." Sam's smile grew until his dimples nearly blinded the older man. "He's dead, Dean."

Dean blinked, stunned, and then he looked down at his hands which were resting on the blue and brown comforter covering the lower half of his body. _He was dead._ The hunter could feel hot tears of relief begin to flood his eyes, but he wiped at them before he looked back up, gaze falling to some random point on the wall in front of him.

"Hey, Dean, y'okay?" Sam asked when Dean didn't reply.

Dean could see his brother's hand come up hesitantly, but it stopped before coming to a rest on his arm. Instead, it fell away. He knew from past experience that Sam wouldn't be sure how he'd react to the gesture. (Dean just wasn't as touchy-feely as Sam was.)

"Yeah, just, um," he cleared his throat, "you think you could give me a minute?"

Dean felt the mattress shift as Sam got up from where he'd been perched next to him on his bed. "Sure. Just let me know if you need anything, alright?" Dean only nodded as he heard Sam's socked footsteps move away from him, giving him the time and space he needed to take everything in.

_He was dead._ Holy shit it was over. After all those years… Dean blew out a shuddering breath. It was just so hard to believe.

* * *

After a long and silent while, Dean spoke up. Something Sam had said earlier had him curious. "You said 'they'..." Sam was sitting at the small table in the corner and looked up from an old book he was diligently taking notes from. "Who exactly are 'they'?" Dean glanced around the room, half-expecting to see someone other than just the two of them.

Sam set his pen down on his notebook and turned to face Dean. "Faeries."

"Oh, okay." He paused. _Shit, did he just say faeries? _"You mean real winged-faeries, like, fucking Oberon and Titania?" At Dean's stunned, wide-eyed look, Sam grinned. A heartbeat passed and then Dean asked with a shameless smirk, "Dude, was she hot?" He waggled an eyebrow.

Dean's reaction caused Sam to laugh. He was amazed at how easily his brother could just slip back into 'Dean' mode after what they'd just been through. He shook his head 'no'. "Sorry, I don't think two simple humans were important enough for them to come out and introduce themselves. But, if it makes you feel any better, I did get to meet Puck."

"Who?"

Sam got up from the table and headed into the kitchenette to get Dean a glass of water. He was sure his brother could use it. "Puck. Oberon's second," he replied over his shoulder as he pulled a tumbler down from the cabinet and ran the tap at the sink. "Lieutenant, I guess you could call him." Sam came back into the room and handed Dean the glass of water. He watched as the man chugged most of it down in several large gulps.

"Wasn't he like some pain in the ass in Shakespeare or something?" Dean asked after he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and set the glass down on the nightstand between the two beds.

The younger man lifted an eyebrow as he took a seat on his own bed. _Dean knew Shakespeare?_ "Something you want to tell me, Professor?" he asked with a barely concealed smile.

"Shut up. I read." At Sam's scrutinizing frown, he backed down with a conceding smile. "Okay, maybe the CliffsNotes version."

* * *

Sam was packing the last of their bags into the car the next morning. He and Dean had discussed their next move over a small breakfast of coffee and doughnuts; they had agreed to finish their trip to Pastor Jim's place. After the events of the past week or so, both men needed some downtime and since the man was already expecting them, it wouldn't hurt to take him up on his offer of a place to stay.

As Sam closed the trunk lid, he thought over the events of yesterday. Or was it several days ago? Time didn't make a whole lot of sense between the Fae realm and Earth.

* * *

_…Three days ago (Fae time) / One day ago (Earth time)…_

Sam groaned as he started to come around. _Fucking tree. – _Lately, it always seemed like he was getting thrown into things…tombstones, walls; you name it. – It took a little bit of time to shake off the weight of painful consciousness bearing down on him. (Every wound in his body was reminding him of how alive he still was.) Dean's sudden infuriated yell helped bring him back to what was going on in the present and Sam opened his eyes.

His brother was fighting with Slenderman, but things weren't looking like they were in the older Winchester's favor. Dean was being dragged across the ground on his ass by the thick loop of deadly tentacle wrapped around his ankle. _Crap._

"Hang on, Dean." Sam had to do something before the man ended up impaled by one of those things.

He looked around for something to use as a weapon. Not more than a dozen feet away, his Taurus lay discarded on the ground. He found out that it might as well have been ten times that when he went to stand up. Sam's right leg buckled under him, unable to hold his weight. He grit his teeth, biting back the cry of pain.

So Sam crawled.

It took too long to reach his gun. By the time Sam had it in hand, cocked, aimed, and ready to fire, he saw Dean slash out at something near his foot. Sam could only guess that it was the thread binding his brother to Slendy. (Apparently, his ability to see the thing had worn off while he was out.) Sam knew he was lucky not to have gotten killed by doing what he'd done, but it was the only way to get Dean to buck up and go all 'hunter' on Slenderman. His brother had stopped cowering and had finally taken control back once Sam had put himself in the proverbial line of fire. _Thank god._ And now their connection had been severed.

Things were looking up…or were they?

Sam was startled when the knife fell from Dean's hand and the man began to scream; it sounded as if he was dying. His brother covered his ears and curled in on himself, eyes scrunched tightly closed, much in the same manner as before when he'd been in the faerie ring.

Sam wanted to go to him, but there was the matter of Slenderman who was still towering over his brother. He brought his aim back up to the creature; a head shot or a shot to the heart would probably do the trick now that the link between _it_ and Dean was broken. But Sam stilled when the figure of the Thin Man shimmered and suddenly the creature morphed into the familiar form of Splendorman, right down to the brightly colored polka-dots and top hat.

The creature crouched down and tentatively brought a hand up to Dean's cheek. Something Sam couldn't hear was said to his brother and then the Fae stood up. Splendorman turned to look at Sam. When their eyes met, Sam felt the creature trying to get into his mind and he allowed it in without hesitation.

_"Do it. You must kill me," _he heard. _"It's the only way. I see that now."_

Sam pulled the trigger; the bullet hit its mark.

And that had been the end of Dean's decades of torture. The younger hunter hadn't wavered in taking the shot at the time, but after the fact, he'd felt conflicted about what he'd done. Sam had felt genuine goodness in Splendorman. The creature had given its life to save Dean, and more than likely, others as well.

* * *

The rift in the curtain between their two worlds had caused a disturbance that the Fae could feel and a contingent of guards was sent to check on it. When they approached the scene, their leader leapt lightly down from his horse and stepped over to where the still form of Splendorman lay. He glanced over to Sam and then down to Dean. He didn't say anything as he came over and knelt down across from the younger hunter.

Sam eyed the man surreptitiously. He was willowy, maybe about Sam's height, and dressed in varying shades of silver, gray, and green; well-worn leather boots reached up to his knees. His dark, almost black, hair was swept back from his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a leather strip. The man's features were striking – flawless – as would be expected of a Fae creature. Sam's trained eye moved down to the deadly looking sword sheathed at the man's side and then to the wooden bow strapped across his back. (He could see the golden fletching of the arrows in his quiver peeking up over his right shoulder.) – The hunter was sure this creature wasn't someone to be trifled with. – Sam's eyes widened in wonderment when he caught the glimmer of a pair of translucent wings; he hadn't noticed them before.

Sam remained quiet as the Fae placed a hand to Dean's brow and held it there for a moment. When he looked up, Sam met his gray eyes; they were flecked with varying shades of lavender and gold. He had never seen anything like them before.

"My brother…can you help him? I don't know what's wrong with him." Sam had tried to get Dean to wake up, but nothing seemed to work. Dean had endured a lot worse on the job and had never been down this long.

"His mind was connected to _it_. Its death has caused more than just the physical damage that you are aware of. Come, we will bring him to our healer." The man paused when he noticed Sam's blood-stained jeans. "That will be taken care of as well. It is the least we can do after what you've done for us." He looked over at Splendorman's body then. "That abomination has been nothing but trouble over the millennia. We thank you."

With a nod to the guards, two approached and lifted Dean up from the ground. Sam tried to keep from staring at the sylvan-like ears and the lithe forms of what he gathered were faerie warriors. He knew their fair, elven looks were deceiving though; they were each deadly in their own right. Sam let himself relax a little when he saw how gently they treated his unconscious brother.

"Who are you?" Sam asked as he got up from the ground, careful to keep most of his weight on his left leg, and dusted the dirt from his knees before sweeping his hair back from his face. He watched as the man next to him directed two more men to gather up Splendorman's lifeless body. Sam couldn't help but notice that the blue carnation pinned to the creature's lapel had wilted; it was sad really. The corner of his mouth ticked and he forced himself to look back to the Fae.

"Puck. I am His Majesty's second in command. I was sent here to find out what the fuss was all about." At Sam's shocked expression, the faerie smiled. "Yes, human, King Oberon sent me."

"Huh." Sam smiled to himself and shook his head as he accepted an offer of help to mount the nearest horse.

Dean was going to be pissed when he found out what he'd missed out on.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's Note:** Just about there! Yay! For those of you who've stuck through this with me, thank you!


	12. Chapter 12

***EPILOGUE***

* * *

_…Present Day…_

They had been traveling along the interstate for several hours and had entered Tomah, Wisconsin not too long ago. Blue Earth was still some three hours away, maybe more. Sam wasn't sure exactly, but then again, he wasn't in a hurry either. Dean appeared to be in the same boat.

Speaking of, Dean didn't seem to be in a chatty mood. He'd been quiet more often than not, so it surprised Sam when his brother suddenly said, "Pull over, Sam."

Sam glanced over at the man, then back to the road. "We're like in the middle of nowhere. If you gotta take a leak, there's an exit another couple miles up the road."

"Just…," Dean sighed and shifted in his seat (Sam's seat really), "I need some air."

"Yeah, alright. Hang on." Who was Sam to say no? If Dean needed to stretch his legs, get some air, he'd let him. After what the man had been through, Sam would do just about anything for him right now if he asked…within reason anyway.

Sam pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. Outside, cranberry bogs, as far as the eye could see, surrounded them on both sides of the roadway. Not much was going on with them right now being that it was December; the bogs had been flooded and were thick with ice to protect the vines which were deep beneath the surface. From what he knew, November was the end of their season. They wouldn't start up again until mid-spring.

Dean got out of the car without a word and walked off towards the edge of the bog; the frozen grass crunched under his booted footsteps.

Sam gave him a minute before he got out and followed. "Hey, y'okay?"

Dean's shoulders were hunched against the bitter cold and his hands were tucked deeply into the front pockets of his jeans; he didn't look at Sam. Instead, he pressed his teeth into his bottom lip and looked down at the ground, giving a silent nod.

"Talk to me, Dean. What's going on?" Sam urged his brother on. He was guessing the man had something he needed to get off his chest. It wouldn't be their first roadside conversation and Sam was sure it wouldn't be the last either.

That broke Dean's trance-like state and he glanced over at Sam; a white puff of frozen air came from his mouth as he blew out a deep breath. He blinked and turned his gaze to stare out across the bog, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of tears glistening in the man's eyes.

A moment later, Dean cleared his throat. "You found 'em, the journal pages. You know what that son of a bitch did to me, don't you?"

That caught Sam off guard; he didn't know what to say. He should have known Dean would find out somehow. "Dean-"

"No, Sam, it's alright; I'm not mad."

The sun shone brightly overhead and it highlighted the blond in Dean's hair making him look a lot younger than his twenty-six years. (Not that twenty-six was old by any means, but a hunter's life wasn't easy on a person.) He looked so vulnerable standing there. It was a look Sam wasn't used to seeing on the man.

"I just wish you would… I mean, I get why you never told me. And it's okay. I'm not…" Sam let out a soft sigh as he stumbled through his words. "You can talk to me, Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy, I know."

Sam nodded. Dean knew he was there if he needed him.

Both men stood there for a while, only a familiar, but comfortable silence passing between them; the late afternoon traffic continued to pass by at their backs. Sam would give his brother all the time he needed and then some, if necessary. Off in the distance, Sam spied a water tower; large red letters on it advertised 'Tomah – Cranberry Country'. Dean's thoughts were turned inward; his gaze wasn't focused on anything in particular.

Eventually, the peaceful quietude was broken when Dean spoke up. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam turned his attention from the tower to his brother. He shrugged like it was no big deal. "We always got each other's backs, right? Now, c'mon, let's get outta here before we both freeze to death." He reached over then and draped an arm across Dean's shoulders, pulling him in close. It was something he wouldn't normally do knowing the man would usually shrug him off, but it felt like the right thing to do.

They walked quietly back up to the car together until they separated, Sam heading to the driver's side door, Dean to the passenger's side. As the younger man opened the door and got ready to slide in behind the wheel, Dean stopped him.

"Sam?"

"What's up?" Sam looked across the roof of the car at his brother, brow raised in question. There was a smirk on the man's face and Sam knew he was in trouble. Their 'chick-flick' session was officially over.

"Tell me… Ronald McDonald makes you wet your panties, yet you were okay with _that_? Man, even _I_ thought that clown was creepy."

Bitch face number twelve appeared on Sam's face, but only briefly before the corner of his mouth lifted up into a half-smile. Dean was talking about Splendorman.

Over a quiet dinner of bacon and sausage pizza (and a few well-earned beers) last night, Sam had given his brother the low-down on everything that had happened from the time Slenderman had pulled Dean through the mirror up until he had woken up in the motel room. The older man hadn't had a whole lot to say at the time; Sam figured it was mostly due to shock. After all, Dean was finally free of his life-long tormentor; it was a lot to take in, even for Dean Winchester.

"Yeah, well, I guess we both had a few fears we needed to face."

Sam finished folding himself into the car before Dean could make any more comments on the subject. He wasn't about to join the ranks of the circus any time soon.

**~ THE END ~**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow! What a ride! This fic ended up so much longer than my original plan for it. (Not that I really had a plan. I wrote it on the fly as I do with most of my fics. Sometimes I get myself into trouble when I do that. LOL)

And that's all folks! I want to once more give a VERY BIG THANK YOU to my unofficial beta RiatheMai. (Go check out her stuff. She's a fantastic writer!) She was so much help in pointing things out and giving this fic life. Many kudos to her for letting me pull her in on another story. She's already given me a prompt for another fic which I can't wait to get started on. At this time I'm not sure if it'll be a gen or a M/M, and I'm not sure if I'll post as a W.I.P. or an entire piece. We'll see where the muse goes...

Please leave comments. I really would love to know what you think :)


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